Old Shoes

A poem. A poem.

I stayed up late at night
                                       reading poetry
                             Because
I felt like staying up late,
                                       reading poetry

I stayed up late
                     and
                         prayed for a new thought
    And some old shoes
Only to find that there were no more
                                                           new thoughts
    And everyone already had
                                               old shoes
                   But I didn’t mind.
                                       Not really.

         I used to love the small things
Because I could ignore the fear in
                                                       the small things
           I would push the horror right out of
                                                                     the small things
         And right into the large.

I stayed up late and wondered.
                                       About tired thoughts.
                   I used to love tired thoughts,
                                                           I think.
         But now they just ache.

But I don’t mind.
                   Not really.