Perhaps this preacher is self-assured
because he’s oblivious
to all he didn’t earn.
He shoves me condemnation,
though I’m not sure why.
I’ve slowly learned
not to obey this anxiety he sells me
for the price of my soul.
Weekly, I reassure myself
that I would obey a better voice,
but in fear I ask, if my faith
only soothes, does it lack works, dead?
This day, I finally grasp
that if this white man isn’t god,
and the oily logic from this pulpit isn’t god’s words,
Charlie
Charlie, ever pleasant as
a glowing fireplace
offered friendship to the world,
with beauty on his face.Read More »
Our Old Getaway
The heart building… … …All the good, true,
right, and real … locked inside-
I will cherish it,
wear it
like
a
locket,
open it up
and smell,
inhale
deep,
cry myself to sleep,
and smile
one of the genuine smiles
as each of the surround miles
Read More »
The Break-Up
Severing,
shredding them off of your side
in a burn that will twinge with each
move and stride.
It will only sear
a lot-
This…Read More »
Child of the Open Air
Grabbing my toes,
I pull my butt out from beneath me,
flip me upside down,
and shake.
I plop her back on her butt and smack
her back and wait
and wait and wait
for her to burp, spit or vomit,
or to drop from any pocket
I, female, lie in bed
I, female, lie in bed
dressed in Clark’s flannel shirt.
It is soft, encompassing, swallowing, immersing-
Like love,
but less human, less active, less person.
It smells like active, human person, though.
I deeply inhale his lingering traces,
trying to fill my shell with as much humanity as I can.
I cradle halves of soft fabric across my torso,
trying to touch as much person as possible,
to be swallowed, encompassed, immersed in,
and buried by something soft.
Kendra pokes her head in the door.
The rest of her follows.
She hovers above me, calls me, hugs me,
drops, puts her head on my bed, and cries-
She is too strong to ignore the pain, but too weak to fix it.
I welcome her into my bed.Read More »
identity
not quite a train wreck
but a train that keeps starting and stopping
going the wrong way on the track
and isn’t it sad?
trying not to have an adjective
the hoe and the manwhore
My lies loved yours.
Our scars and alter egos danced,
and your ghost rolled over, straddling mine.
I found a shield in a linguistic sword;Read More »
What a Poem Means
A world demanding meaning alternates between cynicism and starry eyes.
See, all a detail must do
is matter to be written down.
And all a detail must do to matter
is to occur,
Mr. Above It All
You primal man!
You human being!
With twitching groin and heated breathing
misting as a waterfall out onto heaving neck.
One of millions staying home,
desiring food and craving sex.
Alphabet Ravine 