the appeal of being barefoot

By
footprints in the cement flooring
infinite flowery patterns
pressed accidentally to
pair up with the souls
(and souls?)
of strangers
frozen in place or continuously running
alongside the cracks
the bus
the spilt food
the crawling, gawking, drooling toddlers
rubbed against the bottoms of chairs
rolled upon by carts
stomped upon by the curvy and the eager
full of dents and damage
soon to be replaced
an ocean of asphalt
blanketed by the ever-absorbent carpeting
where footprints can only be invisible
and there are no tracks but your own
to run beside





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