A REOCCURRING DREAM, SWALLOWING TREES
In this scenario
the audience is encouraged to believe
there's a cold war raging in the pitcher
of milk, performed by a secret
agent disguised as the lit interior of a late-model
car. Life is a
bed wetter that likes a constant temperature of 88 degrees.
Hand shakes are the accepted gesture when first meeting.
The demilitarize-zone wears a name-tag and is
the wrist and collarbone.
If anything aches it's OK to rub it.
Foot soldiers do. Some even open the window when they
dream. And if they get lost,
they subtract the remaining body
fluids then multiply their mother's age by two. What's left equals
religion or a canary in a coal mine. Either way, most people
eating off paper plates and have
no problem writing a letter now
and then to a convicted felon.
They find comfort in knowing the getaway car has a full tank and
say they keep the extra voice in
a jewelry box, simply because it's the
last place anybody would look.
After almost a decade of working as a freelance photographer in Europe,
Maurice Oliver returned to America in 1990 to work for the Los Angeles
Times. Then, in 1995, he made a life-long dream reality by traveling
around the world for eight months. But instead of taking pictures, he
recorded the experience in a journal, which eventually became dozens of
poems. And so began his desire to be a poet. His poetry has appeared in
The Potomac Journal, Circle Magazine, The MAG, Tryst3 Journal, Eye-Shot,
Pebble Lake Review, Green Silk Journal, The Surface, Word Riot, Taj Mahal
Review (India), Dandelion Magazine (Canada), Stride Magazine (UK),
Retort Magazine (Australia), & online at unlikelystories.org, lilylitreview.com,
thievesjargon.com, subtletea.com, interpoetry.com (UK), kritya.com (India),
blueprintreview.de (Germany) and elsewhere. He currently lives in Portland,
Oregon, where he is a private tutor.