within my walk an ocean sloshes
within galoshes to the drag of
two muffled feet past wonderlands
but with eyes under - galoshes over wonderlands
and yarning-***** of lads pry at my vast inertia
and wonder why they for gravitas
and decorum and the bouncing of a high pompadour
cannot shake spray or splutter
what we were vast weights -
lest we change or (worse)
gets better

through wet feet but drying calf
blazing with hypothermia
sloshing-still
through the lucid air of a vast globe tied-
to a wast treadmill round and walking
lamely talking, for the trip
dries stagnant and still the tides
bow to my mammoth galoshes
and Hercules to my panoply
while up your thumbs
and down your *****
are shrugs only