my shoes are gone

my shoes are gone [down the river]

the mouth of which, shallow and thrashing, could swallow you up
if you let it
if you get too close

the depth of which, bubbling and stinging of salt, could take you down
terrify you beyond belief
wrestle your mind into a stinking hole of mud and rot

but not before all of your eyes could no longer see
and your heart refused to beat

where my shoes, worn by someone else for too long, are slowly sinking
[I know it]

harassed by the tide but going nowhere, gathering silt
begging to be fished from the bottom

as if they could just be got back and wrung out,
or blood could be drawn from a stone
so hard and gritted and brown
that what pours out is of your hands [of the stone in your chest]

recklessly unsatisfied, ageing in its cavity alone
until there is nothing left to be drawn from the river or the stone

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