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I like
my shoes; they are
the only pair
I have.
I've walked miles in
them.
They have
got me around for years.
My shoes are
falling apart.
They should have
quit on me a long
time ago.
Strangely enough,
people compliment
me on them.
They don't see
that the soles are
worn thin, or that they
smell like cat **** and
rotting flesh.
They don't see the
blood stains on
the canvas and the
piece of broken glass stuck
in the heel.
Nope,
they just say,
'Nice kicks;
they look good on you.'
I can't afford
another pair right now,
and even if I could,
I wouldn't spend
the money on them.
No, I like my
shoes, even with
all their imperfections.
They have seen
a thousand sunsets and
carried me away
from many heartbreaks.
My shoes have
run
walked
and sauntered through
snow
rain
and all kinds of ****.
My shoes have
saved me and
betrayed me.
And they have
tasted every type
of ***** known
to man.
When I'm dead and
gone
I hope someone
burns
my shoes and throws
the ashes in
that long lonesome
river, under the bridge,
where men
live and fight
and dream.
~i am a feeble sun, lurching,
my light bleeding through
phantasmagoric clouds of
dreams outgrown,
of spiritless contradictions,
of flesh and touch and stone

you are the half-moon ripping
day from dusk, a charcoal fugitive
stealing away emotion and trust,

and as the water runs salty
from the faucet in this room,
drawn into view
just like the coldest muse,

you evolve, meander,
you age and question and fall,
though you never seem to understand it,
still asleep inside your own walls

how do you survive in this asphalt amnesia
of punctured love and reluctance?
for nothing shows
on your woven face
of tusk and bone;

and love is just
another mistake
you've left to become unsewn
~
bitter
~
i am vulnerable,
stripped back to nothing;
i am a raw and open human nerve with
no way to keep out the world
oh its just how i feel

~
what i willed was to have said

nothing--made not a sound.

allow words to gain full trust

of their master, yet when the

wound opened all their mouths,

they spoke out of turn from silence.

even though there was nothing

but truth in what cruelty they

formed--i must return them to

their silence knowing compassion.
the oath takes

the body with it

as it falls before

dematerializing feet.

through the ground of

being.

non-doership does not

look wan upon invisibility.

it cannot take itself aback.
Fragile and naive...
Had she entered the pupa,
With a fear of the dark in her heart...

Headstrong and wise...
Did she emerge,
With a love of lightning in her soul!
Random thoughts on the way people are forced to change with times and circumstances!
Heaven rained on me,
I breathed in the petrichor,
Bathed in the downpour.
I have sinned,
So destroy me,
With your rain.
He couldn't help it about the shape he was in. He couldn't sing , he wasn't pretty , and his legs were thin . "Oh Well" . No amount of "Black Magic Women" will bring him back again .
Now the "Albatross" glides over the sea of tranquility into the sunset .
Peter Green , original member of Fleetwood Mac . October 29 1946 - July 25 2020
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