A poem by P. L. Munn
My shoes over-worn slip on sidewalks and hardwood floors.
“Why don’t you buy some new shoes?” You ask me.
Well, the thought has crossed my mind,
but I kind of like the scraping sound.
Let’s see how long this will last.
I crossed this room swishing,
saw the reflection and laughed out loud.
The frame lay crooked, rusted. and not once dusted.
Awaken and shaking.
Bruised black like post-season plumb skins,
groped filthy and gorged. Little beast.
Oh! What a joy this has become.
This platform is evidence of a meditation.
One wasp circles a quivering spider web.
The crouching spider wobbles up the post and hides.
This model is non-universal yet non-exclusive.
Recognition depends upon the reconciliation between the image recieved and the image the memory recollects.
I’ve been staring at this goddamn reflection for three hours.
Inconclusive, this operation is at a permanent halt.
This message will self-destruct eventually.