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Kenny Brown Mar 2012
Ominous notes are spewed from the *****,
Shaking the chandelier.
“It’s a syndrome he suffers from, one of being half-reared.”
The monotonous metronome ticks at allegro
While the all too sure foot taps andante.

Entrancing sweet air surrounds that ever-thinning hair
While I chew on half of a pear.
Wear and tear quickly begins to take place
While I erase the ink on my page to make space.
To make space for answers to these overwhelming questions.
I’ve never been much of a winner in this race.
And I’ve heard pace is the key,
But I have no such interest in locks.

Oh yes I’ve got golden goals,
But not the type of gold the count uses for bitter revenge,
Gold more likened to The Idiot’s investments.

Thetis by what mind did you dip only my fingers?
At sunrise my left side malingers.

Hello Mr. and Mrs. Jones I’m a sales representative from corporate united
Can I interested you in a genuine grin this evening.
Oh…that’s fine, I get paid just to ask.
But regardless, I could really use some conversation at the moment.
Would you mind ministering me with melodies?

I scrape the insole of a misfit pair…
Staring and staring at the ground waiting for it to shake.
Trembles are a sort of comforting contagion.

Oh it’s long been cold enough to build fires,
But I’ve only just collected the wood,
And I see no value in conversing alone outside,
Splitting the options with a razor, the sheets are more comfortable.
Lonely days bring still shivers multiplying,
My skin’s grown thin, all my warmth radiates out.
Oh I should have been a pair of scuttling claws…
The salt water is purely a majority,
My spirit is displaced into phytoplankton riding waves.
There there are no graves,
No cremation or consolation.
Just rest.

My I’m tired, I’ve toiled and tilled till morning
And still haven’t seen sprouts.
The bull in my chest shouts and I’ll I want
Is to wring it’s neck.
I’m tired of walking amongst bloodsuckers and
Angry hordes of minotaur’s.
I’m tired of constantly treading over manmade floors,
And walking down the hall
Only to find my destination…a steel locked door,
Then having to implore upon the janitor.
I’m tired of dancing all the time,
Just let me stand in silence.
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Elaiza Banasig Feb 2013
in the best places you took me
up north to that pristine beach
and south in that wild berry farm
You held me high in that roller coaster ride
covered my soles on the hazy salt farm

I loved you and held you near
You matched my dress
slow rocked my suit
and made grand my lousiest sporty top

when I chose you I had no second thoughts
when I'm with the others  
I still think of you

WE are like the best team there is

but then your color started to fade
your insole started flaking
in every stride
your tongue started resisting
to every run
underneath that slender vamp
you started hurting my skin
digging deep my big toe mound
sometimes rips it open and leaves it swollen

yet I still lingered in your warmth
declining the possibilities of giving up
for I got used to having you around
no matter what the crowd
didn't want us to part

staring at you
here on Our cozy bench
I ask
until when?
Brandon Conway Jul 2018
Tiptoe to the moon you wanderlust sole
Fetch the cobbler from beyond the green knoll
For I'm in need of mending this black hole
Rain down on me stardust, repair my soul
Put stars in my celestial insole
Fill this galaxy with light and resoul.
Nick Moser Mar 2015
Falling freely has become a specialty.
A long, painstaking journey from the top has become routine.
Almost as routine as tying your shoes.
Just think about it.
You take a pair of shoes out of a closet daily.
You place your left foot in the left shoe, and mirror that with your right.
Your feet familiarize themselves with the rubber insole within.
You take both laces in your hand, both possibly resembling a small, hairy animal going around a tree.
Now, instead of tying those laces, take them and make a noose.
Fixate said noose around your neck and tie it.
And whenever someone asks what the most important piece of advice you learned during your fall from the top,
Tell them this:
“If the shoe fits, wear it.”
Ryan O'Leary Jan 2020
We've all had them from time
to time, I often think it is due
to what we consumed the day
previous.

(I never swallow chewing gum)

I say that, because I was highly
amused when Dr.Spock told
Capt. Kirk that Clingons had
been sited around Uranus.

But let us get back to the Asterisk
and the subject at hand, wiping.

Howard Hughes walked through
the interview room to his office,
closed the door and told his secretary
to go and tell the man with the odd
socks, that he got the job?

All a bit ambivalent indeed, but, there
was a method to his madness, because
that particular applicant had shown a
certain inventiveness when confronted
with the problem of a toilet without paper.

It was many the time I resorted to the auld
hand in the sock number myself, so I knew
exactly the meaning of that metaphor.

Each of our fingers has a distinctive role to
play in the anatomy of our lives. Imagine
holding a six pack, thumb and *******,
that same finger which is used to express
the **** analogy when we are expressing our
scorn at someone.

During the war, a man had part of his finger
shot off. His bandaged hand revealed little,
so when a visitor enquired!

" Is it the whole finger " ?

The soldier replied,

No, the one next to it.

I have gone off on a tangent.

So, let's get down to the unwipeable ****
and see can we shed any light on this topic
of the unspokeable.

There is a solution, because not everyone
wears socks or underwear and there is no
sink or tap in the cubicle, perhaps not even
a visible cistern by which one could lift the
lid and have a bed bath.

Worry not, if the deed be already done
because every shoe has a tongue or insole.
The latter is by far the best answer.

Take it out and fold it a spatula form,
then use it as a scraper, the second
one should finish off the job.

Make your way to a hotel or bar and
congratulate your ingenuity with a
double Jameson and a pint of Genius.

— The End —