For those of you coming from directories or services that mask my URL, I am located at http://intelligentash.blogspot.com/

***WARNING*** Some of the poetry on this site may be considered explicit or have adult themes. If you are easily offended, you may not want to view the content of this site.

November 29, 2009

Interstate Ascension



I talked to a guy
outside of the Cracker Barrel
in Lenoir City, Tennessee
and he assured me
that God would be there soon.

Ironically, the guy at the
rest stop on Interstate 77
between Cambridge, Ohio
and Parkersburg, West Virginia
said the same thing.

This got me wondering.

So, I began asking
other people along
my route the same question,

"Is God supposed to be here soon?"

Except for the young lady
instructing me
that she had a gun
and wasn't afraid
to use it,
the answer was:
God will be here soon.

I was so excited.
This couldn't be coincidence!
All those people couldn't be wrong.

I decided to wait.

But after an hour
with no sign of God,
I got a little fidgety
and started asking around.

No one in the rest area
at the Alabama Welcome Center
claimed to be God
nor did anyone
at the Cracker Barrel
in Fort Payne
but I found more women
with guns at both locations.

So, I jumped to the only logical conclusion.

I must be God.

At that realization,
I could feel
the universe welling up
inside of me.
I could feel the pull of Galaxies
on my mind
and the awesome power
of every life form
in the multiverse
pouring into my consciousness.

Ascension was imminent!

I could feel my fleshly body
giving way to the ecstasy
of nonexistence...


and then, I was snapped back to reality
by a purse to the back of my head.

When I came to my senses,
a woman with a gun
smiled at me and said,
"Silly poet,
you cannot be God."

Then she asked
to borrow $1.25 in quarters
in order to purchase
a tampon from the
rest area bathroom
before she flew into
the clouds on the backs
of a thousand
seraphim.

I felt very sorry
for those bloody
little angels.

November 11, 2009

Duct Work



He took a weekend job
rehydrating dried tears
for a nickel a drop.

He crawled
into crow's feet
and chipped salty residue
from eyes that
almost forget
how to cry.

He became obsessed
with saline
often siphoning
client reserves
for his personal use.

He drowned
a few years later
in a pool
of stolen tears
waterlogged
and lifeless
with eyes
that had long lost
the ability
to cry.