runners tender_square six years and i’ve smoothened cloud-cushion soles; tinged white treads dirty with dye i can’t buff out: mud soup and leaf tea—muck of living. breathable and washable, yes. yet stains spray graffiti across heather-static woven knit, refusing the washer’s agitation. heels chewed from where my fingers pull-pressed against to slip them on, circumventing impervious knots i can’t untie. 211214 what's it to you? who go blather from