Mashing

Yes Obama's mellifluous speeches woo the budding rhetorician in me to once again feel passionate about politics, but he sure can dance, too.

The story of Meg(h)an(n) and David

The story according to me* is that David is a trucker from Vermont. Rising gas prices have placed him in a virtual stalemate. It’s too expensive to drive anywhere, but if he doesn’t drive he doesn’t earn any money. The burly trucker is holed up in his cabin deep in contemplation, verging on depression, all triggered by the economic recession.

Megan is a phone sex operator with whom David has been chatting for months. Through continued correspondence (costing him $1.99 a minute) she convinces him to get back on the road again, if only to see her. While he goes about his cross-country journey to end up in her arms, he’ll be able to make a haul and bring in some income along the way. In reality, Megan is a suburban soccer mom with three kids and mini van in Arizona. Hmmm…looks like her husband’s going to have some interesting and unexpected company.

(Full disclosure: I drew inspiration for my story from an article about high gas prices hurting brothels.)

Dave’s take:
David was raised well—the standard life of a good school, good parents, athletic trophies (I’m assuming on the last bit). Then in his college years, David becomes a jihadist. He grows a beard, converts to radical branch of Islam and joins a terrorist sect. He goes about all his extremist duties which culminate in his hi-jacking a plane.

David makes it through the metal detectors, the security personnel and boards the plane. Also on board is Megan. Megan’s a flight attendant. All these principals David has held so near and dear to his heart (caged by his ribs and bomb vest) are erased over the course of the flight as he falls for Megan during her continual trips up and down the aisle and adjustment of his seatback. He can no longer carry-out his suicide mission as he just can’t kill Megan.

Crisis averted!


* An article taken from Willamette Week- (wweek.com) a Portland, Oregon news source.

How the Universe Works

Humanity is needing something other than yourself

a touch, a hug of reaffirmation that the body still exists -
that you haven't disintegrated into yourself, yet.

Getting stuck inside your head
is eventual hell.

& it's easy to let this polluted world
kill bits of our innocence



(things can be taken from a rumble strip conversation)

tamari moderator

We hold on by the pinky finger of cell phone service
to keep our 'to be continued,' continued.

Conversational Jenga
and every time the tower tips,
we build it up again.
Even during a rumble strip
exchange.

That’s companionship.

And friends know when you’ll be home.
Friends think ahead in such instances.
Friends greet you with a tofu curry dinner
and excited story-telling dishwashing energy.

My mind could have used a moderator
on the drive home.

It leaked ideas.

Observations on 9/11/08 on 285

Truck amputee abandoned on the side of the highway.

Comic strip clouds of Colorado
& the dusk smudge of distant mountains.

Lonely cows surrounded by their species -
gathered in such huddles…
what a malodorous example of community tolerance:
everyone's breath and asses
on the same horizontal plane.

It’s filled with imitation cop cars –
siren shaped roof racks
keep me from speeding.

Fog fills the canyon like a split dam.

Shape of a shadow valley is beauty leaking.

Even when valley is vast and empty,
it peels the paper back
on the crayon color of my smile.

Amethyst Necklace

Unsure if we were attempting it,
(sideways high-fives until sunrise)
we fell asleep in the clouds
& woke up to speckled snowflake footprints
of people passing by in the night -
I never wanted our wallpaper windows
to defrost.

Wanted to never need to snooze,
have all the time in the world
to lay side by side and smile.

It wasn't my place to ask what was on your mind -
I listen to the yellow lines,
never pass unless perforated.
So will you perforate your heart for me?

I'm an amateur harmonicist
out of practice with this
so I visually willed you to kiss me
but you didn't quite read me right

I want to write songs about the scent
of your vanilla mint breath
breathing me warm
in my cozy crawl-space bed,
where we worked on our Pilates form.

I'll be your word a day,
your way of learning during mindless counting.

I want to swim with you
in not-awkward silences
& quiet my violently beating heart...

...but instead I spill this
on a Safeway receipt
on the side of 285
going home.

Going Alone

If you wanna ride with me,
you'll have to sit cross-legged
cause leg space is limited

Little did the thief know, he'd cause accumulation.

A held hose
gets SF
and spews all at once.

I haven't had a computer since Oregon, so these next few days will be flooded by the dam that broke in me.
Nothing a beaver could fix.

*splash*

Cougar Bait

Whoever says it's rude
to ask about calluses,
canker sores and ulcers

is embarrassed because

they forgot to ask
about calluses,
canker sores and ulcers.

"But even when the window's clean I still can't see for the fact that when it's clean it's so clear I can't tell what I'm looking through"

I sometimes wonder what the windshield
of our lives would look like
if we hadn't hit defrost

What if we kept it frozen like
a polaroid icicle,
captured in the pose of love?

...maybe moved to the mountains
as you once had mentioned
and kept me guessing
when it would happen

Was I always wishing or
was it ever a holy love
as I had seen it?

My guess is yes because
one must experience something
to feel the phantom limb of it -
the ache of its absence

You're the only memory that makes
me crumble into a pile
of vulnerability

I need to know permanence
on your end
before I can...

finish that sentence.