Month: September 2021

PDX
Terminal C
6:00 am PST
Electric xylophone jazz
Performance
Passion
Fans
Travelers
Passengers
Coffee sippers
Hurry to departing gates
Electric xylophone
6:00 am PST
Terminal C
Jazz

-T. Weeks

Found a cedar
Curious and funny
Dances
Laughs
To beat of the wind
What do I do
About a dancing cedar
Tap a foot
Find the song

-T. Weeks

Factories don’t make loud cars
They make canvas
Stock coups with power windows
Raw material for a master’s hand
To tint glass to obsidian
To tattoo across hatchback shoulders
The manliest of anime racing decals
To bite at the darkness
With purple-fanged headlights
To create a multi-medium magnum opus
A visual and auditory experience
A beast that roars
Who will know of its greatness
If they don’t hear its greatness
“My name is Ozymandias!!!”
Blat blats the nazely exhaust
“Look on my works ye mighty and despair”
Banshy trumpet tearing the night
Politely signaling to changes lanes
Civic reborn
A mutant
A hero

-T. Weeks

A cup
Is a cup
Until it’s tilted
Then it’s an idea

A Finger
Is a finger
Until it’s raised
Then it’s a number

A taco
Is a taco
Until it’s eaten
Then it’s dinner

-T. Weeks

George Washington
Your founder and savior
Died on the flag for your sins
Come unto him
Confess your treachery
Pledge allegiance to His holy flag
For you were born guilty
And have been led astray
Chasing social good
For there is only one who is good
George Washington
The poor must pay for their sin
And seek redemption
Through his holy sacrament
Eat this bootstrap
For it is the leather of his boots
Drink this elbow grease
For it is the grease of his elbows
And do not be led astray
By false idols and false governments
False promises of care and education
For the way is clear
Let the naked cloth themselves
Let the sick heal themselves
Let the poor try harder
Lest you make them soft
Oh George Washington
Hear this prayer
From a soldier of manifest destiny
We are meek and will inherit the earth
Amen

-T. Weeks

Hot on the surface
Hot enough to burn feet
Hot enough to regret
Jumping off
Rolling down
And the climb back up

Just below
Maybe three inches
Cool damp
Full of water
Tons of it
A giant sponge
Pretending to be a desert

Clever camouflage
For a place where fog bows
Grin at sunrise

-T. Weeks

Free will don’t cost much
It was free to begin with
Freeways and muppets
Freehand highways
Race home
Exits every few miles
Thumbs flag free rides
Racers frequent free lanes
Free range sensibilities
Freedom to move
Forfeit for the bait
Buy one get one free

-T. Weeks