When I pour power into my feet I feel like a fleet god. My toes thrum with ecstasy of humming energy.

Power!

I imagine they glow violet inside my shoes, my toenails letting off a hissing steam of turgid green. My soles creak and crackle the creak and crackle of old leather, only stronger with jags of blue electric lightning bolts dancing from calcaneus to phalange.

Power!

The tendons of my feet are fed by the blue electric lightning bolts to become a liquid pink elastic neon to whang! taut as a bowstring or to limp! like cooked spaghetti. The legend of Achilles boils away in great xanthous spikes of bad mojo for the ozone.

Power!

Fungus is food for power. Great mycelial salads of is it meat or vegetable nourishing power like no other on toenail evaporations. The gene expression of my feet a marriage of mother and father shape the force of muscle and skin velocity and my mother and father had good rosy assiduously arched holy grail feet.

Power!

I pour power into my feet, and jumped!