The Big Bushel Basket of Onions

I wish I could walk.
I can move my legs like walkers do,
like Ghandi did, or Thoreau,
but I am always going somewhere.
That is, apparently, a good thing.
Someone said once (I forgot who and when)
to be layered like an onion.
On a walk-like journey, I disagree: 
The person said so because they saw
someone's plastic rings fall away
How else do you know onions have souls? 
I asked my right sneaker.  (Whenever I step, its soul flattens)
Stop layering- the earth warms- without sweaters and vests
in a bushel basket, more little soulful bulbs fit
I need to pick up shorter lines at the market- mine are lengthy
with prepositions and terrible similies.  Stanza length. 
I do not condone knives but, instead, shelling off.
It will feel like growth from your point of view, but this is because
your insides will touch the world immediately
also, the onions packed in beside you
smallen too.


-Citron