Monday, March 17, 2003

A poem for an SUV commercial

Open mountain passes
speak my name.
Caribou bow down
and speak my praises.
Dost thou knowest my
leather seats?
Dost thou ever go off road?
Do nottest thou ask me
for I be free as the mountain air
and as luxurious
as a tank of premium.

Who knows my name?
It is the wind.
The wind calls for my buttocks,
I careen amongst the glaciers
who do not ask my name but
honor my axle clearance.

I take a handful of tundra
which is a thick salad.
I hold a rock which is as
a rock like no other.
No other rock has
ever been so stoney
and permanent.
Without remorse this rock
is like the hills yet smaller.

Smaller than the hills
is this rock in my hand.
My hands like my feet
but with thumbs
and fewer calluses
and a better aroma
grip the wheel of my
freedom machine!

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