The taut tree juts
upward in space,
wanting to be a tall man,
the way it’s seen
tall men walk around
with their arms outstretched,
laughing at the circumstances
that led them to that place,
applauding their position
on the planet as apex predator
for the next few thousand years–
as though being there
had anything to do with skill.
Category: Poetry
Meanwhile, in the Depths of Space [I]
A congregation of sphinxes (Intergalactic Sphinx Brotherhood Local 167) has made it apparent that nobody will live to finish this particular quiz they’ve concocted–the most difficult sequence of riddles ever devised. An arrangement such as this can only have been composed as a way to appease the in-crowd (you know, the ones who can never have a riddle too tough, therefore devoting their livelihoods to crafting questions that have answers unknown to all but them).
A subset of these puzzling desert denizens can’t help but take pity on the doomed mortals that will inevitably come across this death trap. There have been rumblings for some time amongst a few concerned members, and these conscientious few have agreed to let Rolphus (the notoriously outspoken one of the bunch) have a go at playing the role of public defender and devil’s advocate wrapped in one.
“Brothers, you know that nobody will escape with their lives if they come across this latest amalgamation–doesn’t that irk you at all? We sphinxes aren’t just killing machines. We should at least give our potential victims a chance. Now, that doesn’t mean that every riddle has to be easy. Plenty of people are still going to die, but the rate of death can be something like 99.2%, rather than the appalling 100.0% that’s currently in place. Just give that some thought, brothers, so the history books will record a more just reflection of who we are and the art that we have thanklessly produced for millennia.”
This plea is met with a few seconds of stuffy silence before the meeting proceeds just as it had before. The quiz is not amended, and every human to come across it dies unceremoniously. Less than a year afterwards, tourism on the Sphinx planet Egregion ceases entirely.
Pinto
The Sun filters
through canopy leaves
to impose
a tinted pinto pattern
on a utility vehicle,
two-hundred some-odd
horses neighing
under the hood,
expecting imminent
metal pedaling
and waiting in July heat
for their concrete
cowboy to unhitch them
from the curbpost
after picking up
the second load
of dry-cleaning
in as many days.
The Dawn
Tunnel through a portal
leading past dungeons,
underneath a dragon
both juvenile and mature
enough to know the difference
between a swordsman and
a cake-making grandmother
when both tap on its shoulder
looking for attention solely because
a mythical reptile shouldn’t be
taking up three lanes on the interstate,
much less signaling to passing motorists
that stopping means succumbing to
orchestrated predation that predates
the dawn of our monkey brains.
Cringe
Bent, twiggy-licking finger smidgeons
hover tomorrow, but not
when the ice cream truck
stalls on the corner.
Never when the ice cream truck
frets and coughs on the corner.
But you know the time has blossomed
when those rats reach out
for their most prized trash heap findings;
you know that time reached full flower.
Rugs roll themselves into Lake Superior,
Lake Superior glares and frowns upon them.
Under the toe of a mighty Joe Stallion,
we stroll through our riverwalk
with a mischievous grin.
Cringe
and throttle that barrel-necked
orphan cherry.
Cringe
and throttle that barrel-necked
orphan cherry.
———-
First version (“You Better Believe It”) originally drafted and posted to WHARVED on 3/18/2013
Ladder
When the pigeon-toed astronaut wannabes
decide that their way up the ladder
is through a series of elaborate hoaxes,
that’s when you need to jump in there
and take a penny for the thoughts
of every person on the planet–and
whomever has happened to colonize
the moon by that point. Because at least
then, you’d have dozens of millions
of dollars to play with–assuming
these pennies are American–and you
could invest in several organizations
for as long as you should want, letting
your money work for you. Investments are
generally deemed risky, so you need to be
young (75 or younger, preferably). Don’t
end up sinking your hard-earned wealth into
some ponzi scheme. I’ve done that four times
now, with varying degrees of failure. But make
no mistake, each one of those investments netted
at least a 59% rate of failure–the worst being
a pure 100% failure. Always do your research, and
for God’s sake, talk with a financial advisor (one
who is not affiliated with a ponzi scheme, mind you).
Our End
While we’re at this interstellar reception hall,
we should take the time to tell all our friends
what we’re doing this for: the peculiar sense
of freedom and wonder that takes off like a goose
through the heron-streaked gates of our overlords,
be they earthly or heavenly. It doesn’t matter
who takes the cake in this tradition, we must
stealthily enlist the help of as many indentured
mandibles as humanly possible, lest we fall into
a holding pattern of nothing in particular–save
plaid or argyle in shirts and socks. We’re all in
the habit of making friends with people who choose
not to know much about our end of the galaxy, and
it’s not much of a turn-on when you come to realize
that nobody really knows much about our end of the galaxy.
The freedom to choose whose friendship we want
is something to be admired, but it comes with a cost:
pepperoni pizza to be consumed by all parties involved
for as long as a grand occasion can be extended. If
pizza isn’t the taste of the day, a number of foods may be
substituted–pita pockets, burgers or even flan for instance.
WHARVED 