crests and troughs
there is no difference between colors and rugtops
between laughter and brushes with brick-faced sensations
besides bumps per square inch
space
things in concentration
mountains
the molecules that texture my hand
(read up and think about physics my friend)
and while on a sockless stroll past carpets
past sofas past chair legs
the legs of my lover I know
green-iris flecks
rain plops in puddles
barefooted adventures and raw planet earth
will be licked with the same
great healthy tongue
passerby
anyman walks by
scribbles on the world with his pregnant gaze
he could be a poet too
he could be a poet too by the sea
everything is sea colored
his balloon head turns and nods
in remembrance of what the sea felt like
the pattern of no pattern of a stormy surface
nothing weighs more than poetry
his pebble eyes said nothing other than
nothing weighs more than poetry
