Road to Sixty-six

And you walk in
these boots
till they fall
off
your feet
in used leather stripes
and the stony
boys
pierce the bottom
of your
bare
soles.
You walked
these boots
for a thousand miles
and another pair
of a thousand miles
worth
in your head.
You are not strong.
You tend
to look back every odd time.
I hope
you are enwrapped
in something
beautiful
and you need
a while
to snap out of it.
Maybe
you beg
the beggars for a drink
like I do.
High
on ether
in the sky
and alone
in the streets
walking
at night.