Found - Haikus The girl with the pro sthetic is armed with lip, stick & glittery balm
forsythia - the reveling of yellow
refuse heap the rats here not so hidden
karate teacher springs fast - one kick to my rib I'm pulling his leg
buried in bedsheets flashlight and his first novel hidden treasures
you bone smoked me porchknawed first between you paws
Hawaiian Porta Potty Leave a quarter Shitty Job
It's finally looking a little something like spring in the northwestern corner of the country. Daffodils are in full bloom, cherry blossoms coat the ground, lilacs are filling the air with their scrumptiousness and things are beginning to sprout in the garden (chives, oregano, thyme, arugula, weeds). Our neighbor cats are sniffing each other out for hot cat sex and I've seen more than one lone dog seeking out a furry companion. It's mating time! Yesterday was the first day was able to get away with wearing short (rather than long and heavily insulated) spandex on my bicycle ride and a twanglit (my word for delightful smorgasbord) of stranger folks smiled and waved hellos as I peddled down the street. I don't think there is a population of people more in love with warmth and sunshine than Pacific Northwestern humans.
Praise sasquatch!
Among plaid, beards, thick black reading glasses, single speed bicycles, organic farming and quirky she-bands (and their accordions), Portland is also know for its drivers who like plastering bumper stickers all over their cars. Many of these stickers are peaceful cries to the world, political commentary, gay rainbows, the shape of the state of Oregon itself and all-time favorite bands from a variety of music lovers. Here are some additional statements that I imaging gracing the butts of Portland motor vehicles: My labia is bigger than your labia
Horses do it better!
Seahorses do it even better than horses!
Earthquakes!
One day I'm going to drive this car off a bridge
I floss yearly
A man named Henry is buried under my basement
We are all failures
Radiation!
David Koresh!
Honk if your horny
Honk if you think you've been accosted by the ghost of Stalin
Honk if your Latino
