Monthly Archives: January 2017

Jealousy

She was so thin,
Bones and stories
And jokes.

She survived my world,
My weighty horrors,
So thin.

Everyone laughed when she wanted them to,
Fell silent when silence was due,
And I thought

Her frail bones made her seem so pitiable,
Some little bird who needed nestling,
And a worm or two.

I sat on my haunches, my stout paunch
Introducing me,
And I look so hearty,

I look so durable in this new flesh
I’ve worn for a decade
Covering my frail bones.

She was so cool, making soda pop jokes
Over the scenes of rape,
And starvation.

She ate nothing, but her entourage
Ate every single word, every inflection,
From her birdlike hands.

I ate them too, but couldn’t swallow
All the jokes, the laughter
Spliced into my horrors.

She laughed delicate swirls,
Fleeting and dissolving
Like thin snowflakes.

So thin.

I eat comfort, answers, procrastination,
And store them on
My hollow bones.

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Taboo

Reopening Soon

The cheap sign,
Improper spacing
Rings out all I’m not facing,
A slur against divine.

Gaudy nights
Take place inside
Women hiding
Everything but their flesh from sight

Makes me sick
To think of the distortion,
The gawking at proportions
Makes me quick

To anger, to cry injustice
I feel slimy eyes
Feeding on the lies
Of porn, of lust, this

Slur against women,
Against what’s good,
Against where I’ve stood,
Where I stand; its criminal,

But legal.

Reopening Soon,
All my prejudice, the sting
Of every rotting, grasping thing,
Reopening soon my wounds.


Winter Trembles

These flurries drifting in my skies,
Floating through my reason,
Express intentions unrealized,
A cool, restraining treason,
As though winter, holding back surprise,
Waits to drop her train and freeze us

Flurries in my secret vaults,
Flecks of dark depression
Whisper to me all my faults,
And leave the stark impression
That under my cold facade, tumult
Rages with aggression.

Who can restrain a single flake,
And who can speak to atmosphere
To reveal her flurries as mistake,
Her whispers altered and austere,
Who can reach inside to shake
The brewing storm severe?


Ithaca

Dark waters lapping at my hull,
And I have no control
Over the depths beneath
Over the sea beasts
That lurk in my dreams
And I creak at the seams
My timber shivers
Against the weight that delivers
This vessel homeward.

I’m using temporary measures,
Carnal pleasures
Tourniquets of vice
To numb these nights
But I’m waiting for the God of the sea
To arrive in storm, to rescue me
I’m tethered to this ship,
But there is One whose grip
Directs this helm heavenward.

Water and wind
Slashing again
At my weathered face,
But this journey of grace
Has an inevitable harbor
Let the wind blow harder,
Let the breakers break me
They cannot shake me

From my course.


Doubting Me

Ruminating
On the substance of man
The intangibles of hope, and faith,
That fuel and fan
Our brief, burning existence.

Striving and dying
In the same breaths
That framed the common lives,
Ambitions, and inevitable deaths
Of heroes and villains.

And without scales
To weigh this substance,
To ascertain its purpose, or value,
It’s just wandering circumstance
And wishful thinking.

Religion,
Man’s answer to man’s dilemma,
Is more striving at dying,
Temporary solutions or agendas,
Without a Creator.

And I’m thinking of witnesses,
And historical accounts,
The dependency of science,
And it all amounts
To the idea of God.

How easily I doubt,
And how often I look
To the Author of life,
Of time, of the Great Book
That weighs these intangibles,

And makes sense of circumstance.


Survivors

Pushed beyond myself
Coldest nights relenting
To a brutal sun
Always repenting
For my solutions,
My desperate delusions

I’ve cut and run
I’ve been cut through,
Cut free,
Pushing back my view
Until all I could see
Were broken remains of peace

My goal and end:
I was shooting for the mirage
To deny my beginnings
My grotesque collage
Proof of sinning,
And violent endings.

Hard places
Teach the harder lessons,
And I’m ancient ears
Learning new confessions
Misplaced fears,
And hopes, and years

What doesn’t kill us
Makes us who we are,
And our broken bones
Have travelled far
And are still heading home,
Because we never walk alone

What doesn’t kill us
Is our greatest gift,
And I’ve been ashamed
To expose this rift
But I am not the same
For naming the name

Fractured,
But never forgotten,
And this existence
Has not been ill-gotten,
Our weathered resistance
Grows from our assistance,

The relentless persistence
Of the love of Jesus Christ.


Here Am I

I sit in the cold,
With my little fire,
Stirred by my past,
My potential, my desires
Which fuel all

Where I am is cemented
By lead toes,
And iron wills,
And now I know
Where I am

But the harder questions
Still ruminate
Float in the ethereal
Threatening to compensate
Providences hard found

The why, the what,
The ever advancing true
Whispers guesses
At the deeper who
Always taking form

I wanted to be known once,
As though unchangeable
Matter, spirit and breath
Existed unexchangeable,
Impervious.

But these nights,
These words and thoughts
Burning through failures,
The stops and starts
Of fluid existence

Molds the untouchable,
Changing designs,
Or excavating
Who am I and
Who I am.