Walking Poem

my childhood

I thought oh enough of missing the turn the turn signal still clicking its bad cricket bit I said yes, please I desire none of it but there was nothing else for sale and the money burns a well in my sole i want to walk

so we'll walk, sole burns for miles not money, turn signals turn away and we keep walking, departing,
is it an art we are following, not one to acquire but to entire us, perspire after and before--