A foot looking to transform pauses a
certain space of time
as memoranda to the road taken.

It desires to think in dancing fonts.

It pushes up and down
insofar that you can taste the noise
and you can hear that everything is in the
corner of something
in this topiary.

It moves away from the prescribed
to become a painter covered in plasters.
Some discounted facts make this possible.

For the new moon it eats lipstick
as a votive
yet hesitates before lighting that candle.

Later laying sideways on a bed
it watches Louise Bourgeois drink a can of
coke on tv.

It has arrived in a small and sad place now.
It wants to breathe a longer breath.
Consider it part of a long distance:
one tap dances, the other doesn't.

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Photograph by the author, of The Seated Woman at Crystal Palace Park