Computer ruined indentations

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My ten dollar shoes suck; they suck water
from every puddle and soak my socks.

My twenty year soul constricts and to its center,
from every puddle scurrying, bars everything.

My toes’ hairy eyebrows wink at each other
as they wait for the return of their coverings.

My moat of self pitying tears protects the fortress
lost in the center of a dry, unfeeling desolation.

My shoes’ tongues lap greedily and pitifully
as they strain out of their constricts to imbibe

My moat with water enough to make supple and still burst
--if I dared give its use up and lose protection from myself--

Your soul, wrinkled with a sidelong squint,
does it wink at itself from shuddering peaks
of fiery flares as it yearns to handle its desert lands?