she leaves
her wet
shoes on the porch
after running.
they stink to high
heaven, whatever
that phrase might mean.
flies come a buzzing,
mushrooms
pop up from the souls.
you leave
a message on her
voice mail telling
her about
the garden that
is her shoes.
it's been weeks,
but she doesn't
care.
she apparently
has new shoes.
a new boyfriend.
she's still running,
but not towards
you anymore.
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