every now and again in the wake of tumultuous tides and difficult time, the Universe takes it upon itself to remind us that life is wet with adventure and drizzled with the sticky syrup of excitement. around every corner is a pool in which to soak two jumping feet, if only two feet would–could–should jump.
when the heavens burst with watery downpour it leaves no room for the artificial. it washes from us the masks of our beings, the litter, the benevolent buzz of lifelines, and awakens us to spontaneous slickened roads in which to Travel.
and Travel we must. with would–could–should jumping feet–keep–meet. ing in the clashes of splashes in patches; matches–extinguished. of the too-simple hum, drum, scum of being. we are awakened to the rhythm, the rhyme. the beat of the street where would–could–should jumping feet, meet, greet our lives–lives!–in the tranquil drizzle of water drops–sops–caughts us in its dewy spatial grasps. cling to our skin, make us sing, ring, sling a glance at the world. in the only dance we are obligated to prance–Everlasting Romance.