there are socks and socks and socks to
roll into so many
single units--
infinite egg-white
elastic terrycloth, it seems
like two-thirds of each
load is made up of socks
and some are tainted
tinted with overuse but
washed--
to extend the fantasy they
promised upon emerging
so perfect and
bright teeth-white
softer, then
like the inside of buds and
clinging neatly in
pre-destined pairs
the machine swallows them up here
and there for laughs
never in even numbers
so that everyone might have a mate for
each folding--
a good joke, if you're not
an odd sock
and sometimes they wont roll
and holes always end
up underneath the big-toe spot,
and they stretch into shapes that
fit differently on different feet,
and each step's an effort because one foot is bunched and the other is
suffocating and
forget
running because there is no destination that can ever be arrived at that will
ever be able to fix
socks that have been through so
many cycles
-asia
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