I am the runner in the liminal
You know, that long rug in the hall.
That thing you walk over to get to the door
All frayed in the middle from the kitty-cats claws
I am the runner in the liminal
The ouroboros' shedded skin
Something that fades into the abstract
Until it catches your eye again.
I've been laid down so you can tread on me.
As you get to where you need to be.
I'll still be under feet
When you're ready to leave you'll
Please the fibers I need you to knead
I'll be-
Beneath
Stampedes.
Worn in the middle never at the seams
I've been rolled up and moved
Out to the porch
To be pressure washed with chemicals
Hung out to dry, then left outside
For a while
It must feel naked in the liminal without me
I'll be spread out on the floor
Like so many times before
With one part admiration
One part resignation
I've always served my purpose
Do you really need something more?
I'll be-
Beneath
Stampedes.
Ignored until the dog comes to piss on me.
I am the runner in the liminal
I am become part of the hall
I'll see the daylight through the window of an open door
Till it's closed
Then I'll breathe in the darkness
and the stale air between these walls.
Oh I'd love to be a tapestry
A conversation piece
But I'm not quite shaped right
And who'd hang me up proudly
When I've already been
trampled under feet.
I've been put down so you can tread on me
I've been stretched out so you can walk on me
Stride across. Walk on me. See me in your periphery.
It's what I want.
Indignantly.
All I've ever sustained
consistently.
I've been here persistently.
Part of the rhythm of the stride
and the frequency
Till rubber of the mat starts to bleed through me
And you start to feel the texture in the soles of your feet
There's something different than it used to be
Have you already got so much use from me
Has my wear caught your eye
So intrusively
To where every time you look it's all that you see?
...
Does it feel naked in the limin now without me?