The old brown shoes have taunted me for weeks now.
Quickly I put them on, a fury of image and meter.
Easy marks of leather and sole and history,
They laid like lambs at my feet.
But they have turned stubborn and cold and visionless.
Stuck in the gutter
Stuck in the verse
Stuck in reverse
Perhaps I shall cut their laces
cut their ties, their
ability to hold
me
(c) 2012 Norman Dziedzic Jr.
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