The Scripture According to Spiderman 1:1
The Lord calls us to bear witness,
so he sent a photographer –
outcast by most, savior to all sidewalk fools.
Re-imagine the fishers of men
casting their nets – just webs by another name.
The Lord calls us to bear witness,
so he sent a photographer –
outcast by most, savior to all sidewalk fools.
Re-imagine the fishers of men
casting their nets – just webs by another name.
Squint of the eyes
the outside corners pinched
a treasure in darkness
my duty to reflect
Behind these masks
dominating faces
it’s the surest sign
of a smile to be found
The cat is in the window.
It jumps, landing softly on the chartreuse rug,
the ugly thing.
She slinks away out of sight;
my eyes remain fixed on the glass.
I’ve always loved when the panes freeze
and are coated in cold white lace,
frost ferns curling
among tiny shards.
I’d like the think that they were carved
by small, shining instruments or maybe
painted at night while the living slept.
But the frost does not exist
for our gaze.
Reaching out, I press an index finger
to the cold and leave a dot of
melted crystals.
A shame, they were beautiful.
We had to be with ourselves for awhile
Relearn our heart in the din of stillness
Trail the breath in and out
Unhinge the rusty jawbone
Some days we tried to dance away the lonely
But our feet did not recognize their purpose
Arms swinging like dead logs
Fingers like naughty children refusing to snap
Other days we relished putting our feet up
Savored cookies and wine at odd hours
As if our parents were away
And we the royals we always longed to be
Now something stirs outside our window
That demands attention That shouts That flames
Take off the slippers and go to the door
Answer it
The endless stream ends
“You’re All Caught Up”
perhaps in the fishing line of images
Someone takes your sunset
and raises you a moon
Another fence has been given a face
You’ve been using your hand
to measure portion sizes of protein
From the palm to first knuckle
Rubber bullet sized you now know
The body feels to be yours
Feel again
Kitty didn’t like the ‘plat du jour’
I served to her this morning
I looked straight into her eyes
And I gave her fair warning!
You’re not the only cat around
I must feed others too
So eat what’s put in front of you
She looked at me – said “mew”
I presented a different kind
(sometimes she gets her way)
Another kitty ate the first
An’ we’ve gone about out day.
Anger crackles,
sizzles in bright
pops and flashes,
illuminates downtown,
an anti-parade
featuring our failings.
I close my eyes and
the traffic noises
of Alumni Drive sound
almost peaceful,
waves but not waves,
irregular and imperfect,
and therefore manmade.
sometimes you just gotta ask yourself, ‘What would Luke Skywalker do?’
would he
dig his heels into Dagobah to heed the dead impasse of a Jedi’s heart
in contemplation and condemnation
of impulse and indignation,
the Jedi’s code that took his father’s life but left his limbs for lightsabers,
that said, ‘You belong to a thing and an idea and never to yourself,’
or would he
descend into the womb of war and deception on Bespin in the spinning warp and weave of a galaxy long ago and faraway and today and here the same
just to get his right hand cut off in a laser knife fight facing the right hand of fascism
(who cannot be forgiven and dies to become something worth forgiving)
(and dies to become himself and not the idea and not the thing)
but doing it
out of compassion and callow wishing
that things will work out
instead of splashing like X-wing shrapnel on star-ringed backgrounds.
