when one is in desperate need of new shoes

Poems paintings Pots pans purple kumara boiled prefusely Van gough a self taught master of art He chopped an ear off like a tearfilled onion Men walk in suits baked with indecesion Together we scan the shoes on sale to no avail In a high st shoe store i feel underdressed and sense that people doubt my ability to expend Riches and wealth The hand stitched shoes sit on the shelf Remaining virgins of the street Bethoveens symphonies filter my brain cells Purifying my subconcious Alone i stand in a shop window shoeless with unmatching socks While a shoeseller wrestles with unboxed shoes in odd sizings behind the counter stands a woman with auburn hair her body is weary from selling a thousand shoes In her floral dress she resembles artemis or aphrodite Beauty springs out of her like a slinky falling down a hundred stairs My feet are now housed and bound in leather Together my imported friends help me stomp the streets with pride I trek out amongst the city my sojourn continues without end an urban walk about to discover lifes meaning