The Shoe

He seemed to be in the grove,

Where the eye meets dot.

Press send,

I said passing him

On the cross between Strand and Fleet.

Acknowledged as friends

Amid the bright din

A delete with unknown horn yet.

Wasted was this breath to stop his melody,

As he turned

As quick

Into traffic:

Walked across the road in front

The watch he had still watched

A world on its axis stopped

The flame was bright still and he fought

Then gave a rattle, a rally,

A man approached

The shoe traveling,

An air of hostility in flight

A vision.

Screaming inside amen.

Leave a comment