Poem: Toothbrush

I threw out you toothbrush today.
After more than a year sitting idle,
watching me scrub every morning
and bedtime floss, it was time.
It had dust on it and debris still
in the soft bristles. Your debris.
Dentists recommend that you change
your toothbrush once a month.
I bought you a new one today;
It's still in the wrapper on the sink,
should you want it.

---

Poem: Divine Digestion

While reading Johannes Scotus Erigena,

I was eating a peach.

"...and eternal he begins to be,

and immobile he moves into all things

and becomes all things in all things."

God has become this peach I am eating.

God is sweet, and I am licking Him.

I am ingesting the divine

and am making it into me.

I am becoming divine.

"...the creator of all things created in all things,

and the maker of all things made in all things;..."

I perceive the creator and

the created in this peach I am eating.

I lick the peach to catch the juice;

I run my tongue up the canal

carved by my chin-wetting bites.

I hold the nectar on my tongue tip

feeling the twinge of the sweet acidity.

I lounge, intoxicated by the infinite.

"...through a certain ineffable descent

into the things that are,..."

Our sight falls upon only material.

The cloak of God is woven peach fuzz.

I strip God to the seed.

I hold the world

between my teeth;

a stone.

---

Short Fiction: Shatner’s Shower

     “Captain on the bridge!” the ensign nearest the door shouts.
     “Navigator why the Red Alert?” the captain yells over the siren as he strides to his chair, the hub of ship's control.
     “Sir, the left eye lid has been compromised with soapy water!”
     “Caught with our shields down, I was afraid this would happen; it was such a pleasant shower until now. Okay, all crew brace yourselves; this is gonna sting!”
The captain thumb-presses a button on his chair console and shouts, “Engineering! How bad is it?”
     “Owwwooo, it hurts really bad Captain! Ohhh, I don’t know how long we can take it!”
     “Navigator, warp speed to the shower head, rinse that eye! Engineer pull yourself together, we need help up here! How about a hand!”
     “Can’t do it captain! They’re both still soapy, that would only burn more.”
     “Don’t’ give me excuses, give me a hand.”
     “It’s gonna take at least eighteen seconds to rinse the hands, captain.”
     “You’ve got five! Hear me five! Navigator, full stop in the stream! Right here!”
The ship surprisingly jerks backward; all crew are once again shaken.
     “Engineering! What the hell was that?”
     “We had to pull back Captain, the pressure was too great, you could have blown her apart!”
     “I’m the Captain here! I give the orders!”
     “Captain the hands are enroute, should be there…now. Holding lids, gently rinsing…”
A ship wide sigh of relief was heard by all, and the Captain announced ship wide, “Stand down on the red alert. That was close. Good job everyone!"

     “Engineering to Captain!” Is heard from the console on the captain's chair.
     “Go ahead Engineering,” the captain says.
     “Captain! The traction threshold of the right foot has been breached! I can’t compensate! It’s past critical!”
     “You mean we’re…?”
     “Yes captain. We’re slipping; we’re going down!”
     “Oh my God…”

---

Poem: Planetary Bubbles

Bathing when I was young, I blew
bubbles clustered from my hand;
oblate (tubby) spheroids floated
out my summer window–unmanned.

Tiny worlds, individually thick and buoyant
swirled with iridescence. A cover of clouds
cloaked the brewing soup below–
a fact hidden to all, but known to be by me.

I created these worlds by breath
and blew them into the Milky Way
to be caught and played with
by my suns and gravities.

---

Poem: Vagabondage (Hank - part 2)

I'm not a well-suited junior executive anymore.
There is no room for sunglasses in my unkempt curls.
Things have changed; I am free.

I gargle schnapps and chew sidewalk gum
because I might bump into you on the street
and finally decide just what to say.

Because of Hank's infection, he gets drunk first
behind Safeway by the dumpster where he eats
and asks me to tell him stories about you.

I fill his head with clear spring days, blonde hair,
blue Levis, green eyes, and a magnetic smoker's rasp
and of course, your sexy dislike for any underwear.

Ever since that night I haven't felt very well.
I drift these streets stopping at every fountain,
but I can't get the taste of you out of my mouth.

---

Poem: Little by little Hank gets to Heaven (Hank - part 1)

I routinely scavenge the dumpsters behind
those apartments next to that Safeway downtown.
It's an easy way to avoid the Good-Will.

Today I found half a bottle of Windex
and a toothbrush and gave them to crazy Hank
so he could clean the maggots out of his leg.

But he pushed them back at me, unwanted,
and muttered something about God's weird way,
Hell on earth, and redemption of human flesh.

Old Hank, he believes in God, a loving God,
but not a God of Good-Will or of giving,
but a God of taking and transforming.

"The maggots don't bother me much," Hank sighs,
"But at night when I sleep, I hear the flies—
the winged angels whispering to their young;
Soon you will fly, but not until you're done."

The hungry cherubs, plump and milky white,
chewing the fat and seeking the light,
making Hank's flesh into their own,
let him know substance is a material loan.

---

Poem: Happiness is Third Gear

Where does happiness come from?
Is it an illusion that we finally believe?

The power of self-deception is strong,
like the scarf blown across your face
as you scream over the custom exhaust
after your lost shoe,
one intersection back.

---