A whisper grows to a scream
not from the shadows of my throat,
but from the pit of my consciousness.
A question, unsettling and terrifying:
“Why do evil things haunt the good?”

Natural to demand merit.
Ignorant to expect justice.
Though I wonder:
Is the good revealed by what we weigh?

Beneath hopeful deeds
lie shattering motives.
Kindness with stipulations.
Love with terms and conditions.
Forgiveness, misused and misrepresented.

I ache for recognition.
I desire karma carved in stone.
Though the heavens
drown me out.
Truth’s quiet hand lowers me,
revealing an epiphany.

One Man
Truly good
handed over.
Not to fate,
only to purpose.
Filthy thorns.
Deadly nails.
Ghastly wounds.
Willingly worn.

The screams now
shrink in silence.
The question shifts.
“Why does mercy rain on the wicked?”

Good intentions,
undone and dismissed.
Hard work,
laughed into silence.
Empathy,
hardened into apathy.
I am buried under the
prison of my own disillusion.

The realization stings,
though not for long.
I am among the fallen.
Filled with malevolence.

Unworthy. Undeserving.
Simply not good.
Still, saved by grace.
Though the weight of my shame
Has chained me to the floor of deceit.

What if I can’t accept this gift?
That is the question that
terrifies me the most.

Parallax

The object of my professional desire

is shifting relative to each rejection

this distant thing is drifting slowly away

the perspective could change

if my inclination chose another angle

from a different line of sight

Mark this?

No; what are you talking about?
I never forget what I was looking for
just ’cause I crossed a threshold to find it. 

I say what it is
over and over again inside
my mind
till it’s done. 

To become like me,
vivid, unruled,
hold the match close enough to catch the edge of a sharpened word. 
If/when flames falter,
breathe out to keep it lit.

Can you remember, now,
what else happened
In the dark of that terrible night?

Astrobright to your filler.
Dance: that is all.

… By the way, i remember when you told me that you never burned those particular witches.
… By the way, i never mastered the trombone.
…I’ll never understand why the trees plant themselves along the fencelines.

I don’t cuss and fight
Anymore. 

My aim and approach are one in the same.
Breathe a word.
I’ll sheath the blade.
You know that I can do it.

That old girltalk mashup, what was it called?
That’s right;
Smash Your Head.

That old girltalk mashup, what was it?
That’s right;
Smash Your Head.

Be like the flowers
smiling each day
whether sunny or grey.
Welcoming all with everyday splendor
not outshining neighbors
unfettered by storms
no wilt with adversity
no comparing with neighbors
source of food for all hungry winged visitors.
Earth angels – offering joy
to all who pass by.

Cut off fingers can not reach

For a dream better luck to forget

A pillowcase black hole overhead

Repeating who will tell them about

Left over sweat between two bodies

Angel’s with beaks, needled wings

Carved into the arms of homemade

Tar to veins and ambulances

Disguised as tunneled realms of light

Silence before the nod

Silence before breath

You don’t have to wait long

But in the bare breasted morning

birds are chirping over gutters

And the grass doesn’t yet smell

Of vomit and you smile right

Before paradise and Hell

The chains have come, wound
tighter than yesterday,
no forward progress, 
stalled
despite struggles to free myself.
And that’s the thing that nobody gets;
I am struggling.
Mightily.
Pulling, clawing, but
all anyone can see
is an impassive face,
compressed attitude, 
folded in on itself,
a gravity well that sucks
everything up and leaves nothing.
It is hard to move,
no forward progress, 
but through the dark
one thought surfaces,
it can’t stay like this forever
and I am
a little less heavy
than before.

Eenie, meenie, minie, mo
Catch a liar quid pro quo
Take his tongue and off we go
Eenie, meenie, minie, mo 

Eenie, meenie, minie, mo 
Slice it, dice it, roll in dough
Deep fry four hours in Crisco
Eenie, meenie, minie, mo

Eenie, meenie, minie, mo
We made a pick for the banjo 
Yee haw we dance with crows
Eenie, meenie, minie, mo 

Eenie, meenie, minie, mo
Granny does the dosey doe
Oh my Lord how low she goes
Eenie, meenie, minie, mo 

Eenie, meenie, minie, mo
What does he get quid pro quo
Come on now you surely know
He keeps his teenie man cargo 

This desperate want
a starving dream
of insatiable hunger
exacerbated by the presence,
the ongoing radiance,
of your smile
enough to eradicate
the previously perceived importance
of existence’s needs
for you are the very air
of my lungs
the only necessary nourishment
of my body and soul…
and the despairing of awaking, no
of being
is despicable
for your embrace is without now,
only existent among the angels
and whim to Morpheus’s grace…
I cannot bear anymore.

I want to say,
“After all, isn’t everyone forgotten eventually?”

& then I remember all the writers,
long gone, whose names are spoken
& whose texts are printed for study

& I remember my mother’s pink granite stone
& how my grandmother cleans stones older than hers
to make the names legible
so they’ll be remembered

Do I want to be remembered?
I guess, even if I’m buried under an unmarked tree,
that decision isn’t up to me

so much words
cannot describe

so many words
we hide behind

we bide our time
and pine for those
old days gone by

now we’ve memorized
all our lines:

“thanks for asking
things are fine”

“it will get better
in a while”

“was only something
in my eye”

“every story has
two sides”

“what reason would
I have to lie”

so much words
cannot describe