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Click hereSturdy lace pulled thru
this way, that way,
zig zag strangulation
cutting off all
circulation.
Wriggle toes and flex
an ankle, let your
skin breathe. Then
tie a knot and take
that first step.
*
We all walk an inch
off the ground.
Only a few actually
levitate.
*
You can tell a man's sin
by his soles. Superbia is worn
at the toes, poised for charge.
Avaritia grinds heels
into the ground, traction
to pull wants closer.
Gula is a sole never worn
before replaced and piled.
*
Silent wish from a shoebox:
Take me out, pick me up
fill me, fullfill me,
take me dancing.
*
Chaplin gorged on leather
shaped liquorice. Things
were easier in monochrome,
when smoke and mirrors
were indeed smoke
and mirrors
and sweet liquorice
shoes.
*
Doug choose shoes.
Doug's dog chews
shoes Doug choose.
Dog: "Shoe, Doug?"
Doug: "Shoo, dog!"
Shoo dog, shoo.
A friend once explained the deep affinity of women to shoes. They remain loyal and accessible to you even as you change sizes up and down. Now this I could understand but I know how deep is the connection to shows (not mundane LeBroz, if Women’s company is dear to you...). Joyce apparently felt and touched women lingerie’s before writing about those most important articles of women clothing.
You have actually provided at least three distinct poems. And you too have definitely studied your theme, but most importantly, you have made the connection between the shoes the people who wear them in a truly wonderful way.
Here's proof that there's poetry in anything, even something as mundane as shoes. Though some women in heels might look like the living embodiment of poetry.
I adore this poem. The Chaplin stanza is excellent. You're such a good poet to make shoes so profound.