The Reality Of Touch Poem by RIC BASTASA

not everything can be imagined
lest your words become the 3D leeches

that do not really exist
pure breeze from a mountainside of nowhere

it is safe to open the door
go down the stairs
walk along the street
feel the sun on top of your head

swim in the air of this city
dive into the crowd
hear their open conversations
listen to the horns of the cars

create more distance
tire your feet
sweat things out
making thoughts more sensitive to the twitches of the faces of all the people
that you meet

carefully evaluate
the lines of the tongue in cheek
scrutinize
slips of their tongues

follow the lines of the curve body of the woman that you love
using the soft tip of your tongue
the power of taste-buds

one cannot really just survive on the theoretical wings of angels
the feet of the dragon phoenix
the prancing hands of the
wooden saint

shallow and deflatable
as toy balloons are
do not draw the street and alleys in your mind
with a
wind pencil

walk upon them and feel
the water and the mud
and pebbles and sands
to every pore of your skin
feel the tickle of the bacteria of the
mind