tread

 

every one keeps trying to hand

me so many styles of shoes.

 

i like the little quiet of

bare feet.

 

like being wed

to a cocoon,     held

 

in its soft meta

morphosis;

 

openness: whilst

outside cloth-lantern

 

windows, people buzz-opining

 

for the tallest,

sharpest heels.

 

how can you have

laws of war?

 

how can you not?

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