Life Immense

Here are three tips for enjoying Vegas
For the person that hates Vegas
…
Well never mind
I fucking hate Vegas
The strip feels exactly like an airport
A huge poorly lit disorganized airport
So by the time I leave
I feel like I’ve been on one long layover
Except I don’t mind actual layovers
They’re free time I didn’t know I’d have
Vegas is like a layover in a black hole
Where time runs in reverse
And light goes to die
And burgers are fucking fifteen dollars
And the masses are blowing their cash
On that getaway they deserve
Because someone told them they deserved it
And that someone is an owner of a casino
Next time I’m there I’m going to bring a toilet
Put it in a corner and say to people,

“Hey you look like a hard worker.
You deserve a reward for all your hard work.
Because I like the cut of your jib
I’ve got the opportunity of a lifetime.
For just five bucks
I’ll let you put five bucks in this toilet.”

They’ll feel appreciated and I’ll have ten bucks
They’ll move on ogling
And I’ll sit there busking until my flight arrives.

-T. Weeks

Shoes
Side by side
On the sidewalk
Toes to the street
Waiting to cross
Looking across
Who is in them
No one
Everyone
Saturday-night smiles
Pass the shoes
Ignore the shoes
Not see the shoes
Enigma on the curb
Oh god
Are those my shoes

-T. Weeks
(A response to a pair of shoes
left on the curb outside Powell’s)

Little puck swallows the spark
Nothing happens
At first
Then it does
From flame and smoke
Black-knuckled shadows
Long claw of ash
Rises and curls
Adolescent acolytes witness
Whoop and giggle
Priest-child raises the lighter
Triumphant
Magic was made

-T. Weeks
(A response to the same
4th of July fireworks every year)

Do bullfrogs belch?
Or do they purr?
It could be either one
Up the hill and in the house
The song rumbles in my brain
How it must rattle
No code
No meaning
Just a massage for
Pond-eyed frog faces

-T. Weeks
(A response to bullfrogs bullfrogging)

Should we go
It’s an adventure
But it’ll end
They always do

-T. Weeks
(A response to uncertainty)

Pockets are empty
I’m all out of control
Lost it along the way
Now there’s room
To collect something else
Maybe wisdom
Pennies on the sidewalk

-T. Weeks
(A response to expectations
and attachments)

In a reoccurring dream
From childhood
I can fly
Not on wings or capes or rockets
On not-thought
Indirection being the only direction
Up and down shakily I practice
Time passing in the dream like a dream
Until I rise and sustain
High above the world
Master of horizons
Questions push their way in
Where ought I go
Destination inviting thought
Thought feeding not-flight
I dip
Goal by goal to the ground
Not-thought slipping into not-flight
Stuck to the ground
I wake

-T. Weeks
(A response to remembering a childhood dream)

Met a time traveler today
At the grocery story
We talked about a lot of things:

The war…
“The first?” He frowned

My phone…
“The bees knees” he laughed

Dairy…
“Milk from oats? But how?
What a strange future.” he marveled

I guess it is

-T. Weeks
(A response to the dairy section)

Plunks keys
Letter before letter
Hunted by a story
Finger pauses
Eyes turn up
Focused on a corner
High on the wall
This story doesn’t end?
Does it stretch forever?
Or loop back on itself?
Or makes no sense at all?
Plunks keys
Letter before letter

-T. Weeks
(A response to a thought experiment)

Lady centurion looks down at the crowd
Perched by the drums at Mississippi Studios
If you’ve been there you know what I mean
She watches us listen and move
Late at night on a Tuesday
Her skeptical squint reminds us
Well at least it reminds me
Alarm clocks will be sounding soon
We’ll wash the 21+ stamps off right arms
And the “welcome to the show” stamps off our left
Groomed and polite we’ll go back to the emails
Nothing like the dancing weirdos that spill beer

-T. Weeks
(A response to a great show at Mississippi Studios)