It is the same and not the same
Taking brush and cleanser to clean the toilet
Or pen and paper to write
We are pragmatically active in both
But there is no membrane between us and porcelain
Like the one between us and words
(Easily written, probably true)
Sometimes I cannot find them, words
Even when I know exactly what I am looking for
I can’t stand reliably on a sentence as I can on a floor
The membrane may well be the message
All words are virtual
So in a way, none of them exist
Though, in another, they are all right there in the dictionary and thesaurus
Just as the toilet is in the bathroom
In a pinch, we do know where to find and arrest them
When they don’t just come across the membrane peaceably
But even more than elusive words, I must thank my aleatory mind
For placing a membrane between me and this world
Making it an acceptable place to live
Lending it substance, sensation, color, and interest, attraction
So that when I stand in the shower
I am secure in a waterfall, an embrace
And forget plumbing
That I am standing on a 126 tile grouted floor
Next to a 56 tile wall, sheetrock, framing, plywood, shingles
Naked under a faucet a few feet from the road
Where drivers or dog walkers could easily shoot me
Dependent on electricity and natural gas and grocery stores
Just a bunch of chemicals really
My electrons moving faster or slower, my compounds reacting