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 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.