May 2008 - THE POTOMAC

Ways to Become a Visionary Butterfly
   Maurice Oliver

No one knows exactly how it came to be this way.
I suppose irony can often be the richest dessert.
On the other hand, wallpaper has never been
my obsession. And like any artist, I crave
solitude, as long as no earthquakes
or wars intercede by sundown.
Anyway, I credit my short
attention-span on living
in L.A. where even a
typhoon would be
forgotten the
next day.
I also think it’s
because of too many
people wearing too many
tattoos. It could be because the
angel’s feet are on fire or simply because
of the bed of hot coals cleverly disguised in a
voluptuous body. All I know is that most wheat
fields were once drive-in movies and that the Pillsbury
dough boy has a thing for shepherds. What ever happens
to be left-over is an accordion-playing lesbian? O yeah,
and the black hairnet might even tangle in the tree.


Real Life, Transcending The Rule Book

She insists Adam & Eve must have had a dog.
She never had any pets of her own as a child. She would
often become violently ill at merely the sight of anything
as hairless as a Chihuahua. We both wanted to sleep
with Lassie when we were ten. I longed to grow-up to be
as strong and robust as Rin-Tin-Tin. Instead, by the time
I reached twenty-one I had become a ninety-five pound
weakling. I could vote, but no dogs were allowed on the
ballot. That was about the time I learned how to point my
tail in a straight line and raised one paw at the same time.
I suppose it was one way of compensating for not having
a he-man’s body. She has never cared much for my skillful
tail-pointing and thinks my strange laugh resembles the
present-day Hyena. I tell her I’m more wolf than anything
and she just frowns. And when we get tired of pounding
nails in the dog house we put on our leashes, bring out the
sheet music of mistranslated text, and dig-up the bone of
our falsetto voices. Then, we proceed to carefully sniff our
way through an entire cantata by Scarlatti.

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