Going To The Tavern Lubricated

I march to the cadence of a spinning, wobbling, off balance washer and dryer,
A sheet metal factory
and some steam engine crack head expending his roller arms onto a 5 gallon drum.
So that each one of my toes is keeping a different rhythm
And they take me off like ants under a watermelon.

Standing on my toes
They move like hummingbird fingers across a piano
Blowing wind into the sails of my back
I wiggle down the street.
My feet start to move together like a centipede
sliding sideways.

Like when you lift up a vacuum and brush it to the next room
I glide over to the next crosswalk.
When I’m drunk
I feel like C3PO hay wiring.
My feet move beneath me
As if the sidewalk were an airport escalator,
conveyor belt.
I’m a floor sander
accidentally plugged in.