Epigram ‘n Aphorism Samwiches

sole thin

sole thin

takes the road less traveled







alone







and it's worn down now







by just these two shoes






sole-thin tread it is



1.6.23


january
no boots for this

everywhere i go now they want a little piece of me. the more the better.
sorry if i don't have more to give. I look each in the eye with clear blues
so they might peer as deep as they should into the cavern of soul to see
what I spare. a room for the night, shirt from back, last buck in my wallet.
it's a game for them, see how much of me i give of myself, build margins higher
on their side. I see the dots of worn down nubs all around in the deficit.
red, redder. the low and lowered, when I stand up and choose to be blue.
Not red or black. Not on chessboard, or checkers, if you're not into that.
A pawn, maybe. But, I move circumspect of their instruction. they follow me.
don’t like I make my own game of them, these people of rules and order who
want to tell me where to go, where to yield and stand. My ears turn way down low,
they just follow, know, they can't be a father to this man. They killed him.
and i know.


just riffin' off this vibe
reinspect later.