WORMS 4 SALE

[Travis]

It was summer, I know that. We had the windows
down, and I can feel the breeze curling around my
legs even now, like a time anchored scent, like it
was yesterday.

At a sunday's pace we crested Spruce Hill and glided
through a cloud of shimmering heat into the land below.
Descending, you can glimpse the ocean. Together, we
tasted the salty air and swayed like seaweed, if only in
our minds. We weren't going there. Or at least we never.

But where? Was there a destination or did we simply
slide along? I don't remember now, but we grabbed the
afternoon and drove, I know that. And each time we slowed
to take in a lawn with character or some such atrocity, the
normal drone of the tires became more of a sticky hiss. I
remember that.

Heat. Heat and open windows. A passenger. All essential
ingredients for gooey tires.

There was a sharp turn on some back road, and a persistent
memory. It was the perfect moment, just like they write about.
A short string of seconds bound together in one experience
and frozen in time. You gasped, your role fulfilled, and I touched
the brakes, doing my part. As we hit the turn I noticed a small
plywood sign. It was nailed to a pole, painted white and not as
square as it should be. In an unsteady hand was scrawled:

WORMS 4 SALE --->

I loved you then, more than even Maslow could define. Beyond
that I cannot say.

I never drove again. Never had another passenger. Moved half a
country away. Mine is a world of closed windows and cabfare
now, of tall buildings far away from the ocean.

When I get in they ask me, where? I tell them to take these old
bones where two lines intersect. Somewhere.

[k-j]

Woah - this is a bit special I think. It's got the x-factor! But no oil or bones?

[wabbit]

Im with you k-j I think this is very good, although I had to read it a few times before I got it.

I love the "I loved you then, more than even Maslow could define" although have to admit I had to google Maslow before I understood it.

I think this deserves a bump, its had a lot of views but not many comments. Be interested to see what the more knowledgable baird's on here think.

Enjoyed this

Cheers
W

[TDF]

I must have missed this the first time.

I think it is beautifully written, but for me it is not a poem. It is poetic pros. I know that's a rather semantic debate, but it's still my thoughts. I really enjoyed reading it and think its a great piece of work, but personally I don't get why it needs the structure it has. I can understand the paragraph breaks, but not the line breaks.

Tom

[Travis]

The sign exists. There are, or at least were worms (whir, whir!) 4 sale not far from where I live. It's nailed to a telephone pole that stands at the front of a rather large gravel lot that people frequently use in the summer as a flea market location. Anyway...

...when the last comp was defined I came up with bonesoil, and how some poor guy was selling it down on the lot. It would of course been bonemeal and him being mud spelled backwards and having it all wrong. I thought it was both clever and funny. I was on drugs.

I was on drugs again when I decided to execute my brilliant idea. But listening to Madrugada and not feeling at all like being, how do you say, Wabz(?), "enjoyably puckish"(?), it evolved into what it is now.

I originally had it in the comp. Had it removed however as I realized that under more sober scrutiny it wasn't as smooth as I originally thought.

This is very much a work in progress, guyz. But I appreciate you picking it up all the same.

As for TDF, it is prose. I'm of the opinion that it's a poem if I call it such, but that's another topic for another day. And really, it's not relevant here as I agree with you about it being prose in this particular instance. And so I think your bit about the line breaks is spot on. I understand you, sir.

Hope y'all drop back in when I post the first revision.

Again, merci buckets.