Concrete nouns are where everyone can find them
like at the grocery store or at a bank.
We call it pounding the pavement
and we wear boots to do it
or cute strapless high heels. And if we’re hungry,
we can find interred potato products,
like samosas, pierogis or a knish,
complacently squatting on street carts.
We might even hear the bells of a spirit
or smell the opportunity of a lover.
But you’ll have to go into the middle of nowhere
to get where the ideas are, the paradigms
and perceptions, a place where you are the only
living soul as far as your eyes can see.
This is where childhoods linger and parenthoods wait
in a lounge as big as the Great Plains. This is where
work is conceived, where honor sits on a throne
twiddling its thumbs, where touch turns into pleasure.