Eyes have no sides or angles
wheels hang around
coins roll noisily on the ground
A table with sides of four
rugs laying still upon the floor
two long, two short a door
Two men walk into a bar
the third one ducks
a rope hangs straight down
the shortest distance
between two dots
See me in yellow yield
or cue up pool table balls
sail in a stiff breeze
Like a squish octopus
a bright red stop sign
a clock or a gazebo shapes of eight
can make us rest or run
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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