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19 November 2008 @ 01:54 am
Poem: Shoes  
Swinging doors make soft noises
like the distant ditty of a whistling train
and the click-clacks are the tip-taps of shoes.
Heels and soles dragged across marble.
We reject our quiet reflections,
feeling nothing upon our flesh

We’re crowded. Between mirrors, our flesh
merges, and our voices are just noises
as they bounce back to reflections
and reveries of passing trains
and tracks of marble.
We awkwardly shuffle our shoes.

We feel the lacing of leather shoes
and transform to different flesh.
And in the upward moment we become marble
figurines, void of useless noises.
We feel the rattling of the train
as the shaking slowly morphs reflections.

Here, there is ample room for reflections
of left and right, and removing shoes
as we leave behind the train
and feel the rain against our flesh.
The cold, shaving water makes noises
of metal on unforgiving marble.

The corpses are like fallen marble
columns at the Parthenon, their demise reflections
of long-ago crashing noises.
And the in the middle is a pile of shoes
forlornly remembering long lost, burned flesh.
We cry as we remember leaving the train.

The leaving party is a straggling train
of faces carved in pondering marble.
We feel the sun on our raw, tired flesh
and finally see our own reflections.
With the flagstones slapping under our shoes,
we cannot forget the echoes of troubled noises.