Open your eyes to see the silence
surrounding my old blue jeans.
See the words pouring from my mouth
and hear the colors I’m applying on our
walls that scream in protest because they
don’t like the sound of pink.
Listen to the rising sun and eat the heat
from the sun’s rays. Step upon one of its
beams and walk on it until you hit a window
pane that will melt when you expel what you
just ate. Grab a handful of air and sculpt a
design or anything you want.
But be careful of the ideas you may disrupt
that float in every handful of air you take from
the sky, and be careful not to cut your hand on
sharp colors that are invisibly there and only
taste the colors you’ll never see and don’t worry,
because you’ll only be acting like a tree.