What is a man without his shoes?

The deep use of a guilty head can lead to a portrait of self doubt and discontent that lifts you toward the echo that was then but is no more a force that rules the week that was once grand on my lips. How angry could a stone be if it has no other friends; no fair body of air within its grasp; no tree that is short of sleep; like a finger that reaches toward the deep recesses from which it came in the time before you, me and the clouds? She runs toward her sister in a frightened glee with a force that would shake the heavens and help the clouds, into work she will go from the pit to the miracle that may or may not be from god who sits atop the moon in the golden ray of the sun ever shining that gives life every month or every year to those that pull themselves to the natural way of life so that love can drag itself to the top of the red mountain of sand that I hear whispering, calming and maddening talk, and this will lead to the family of trees that cover the world, they work alongside the lake every dawn as if a recurring vision in a man’s head will help him think about the break in his heart that really isn’t there but it is written somewhere else maybe his lungs or stomach…. but that wouldn’t make much sense now would it