Acknowledgements

To my children

with new names, but anointed once

There is a new temple being built

 

The first is an author of hope undiminished, set on reaching God

The second, an Athenian heroine with angelic self-control

The third, a fighter willing to part ways and yet offer only two ways

 

For my father

A familiar saying

Frequently misunderstood

 

With a quick search one finds

Love enduring imprisonment

Faith and reason overcoming injustice

 

In place of a stone

some find a prudent jailor 

lighting gas with rigamarole

 

For my mother

A poem for a poet 

with gems inside

Hiding the Spirit

of the first, second, and third

as the new Temple is built

Messengers

 

I cried this morning

I changed the wallpaper, too, because of you

It's the perfect picture of the crazy I remember

    with the glow of love for the Divine

All I could say in the moment was, 'I miss you.'

And thanks be to God that you can receive such greetings

    whispered to angels

        or those seated above them

I picture one of them saying, 'Go! Give this to her quickly.'

And at once each one darts off to run their own race

and eventually comes to your mansion

You sense the urgency, 

and so, rush to the door

    and listen intently

        and respond gently

Go tell my son, 'I love you too.'

That's when I cried

and changed my wallpaper

    to the perfect picture of crazy love for the Divine

I really mean it

 

I really mean it

I can't believe you married me

I love life with you

I love you with every piece of me

And I will love you until

No pieces are left

After nothing is left

I will still be in love with you

And every piece of you that completes me

I would disassemble 

Just so I could put you back together again

It's the least I could do

For giving me all of you

I really mean it

The Prophet

 

There once was a man

Who told stories on mountains 

Before all great feasts

Underlings would gather round 

To hear the seated prophet

And watch his big book open

They would listen with reverence 

As spells were expounded

And the whole world outside his realm, cursed

Every mind was amazed

Every ear refreshed

Every eye dazzled by his authority

Because only he knew how to reform everything

His abilities, his somber tone

Crystal clear interpretation 

Archaic application 

Every true daughter fawned

Every doting disciple stood attentive

Even the queen mother by his side

No underling dared to question the prophet’s word

Each was fitly framed like apples of gold

In settings of silver 

They all knew their history 

And what happens to those who fall

They remembered the first man on a mountain long ago 

He, too, knew how to reform everything

A reptilian once approached festivities

Spoke rashly, argued, and berated the first man 

After listening to him read and teach for only ten minutes

Suddenly, a spell burst forth

Ex opere operato

Suddenly, earth opened its mouth

Swallowing the serpentine beast whole 

Demons dragged him down to the depths below

Torturing him until that last Great Day

An important lesson was forever to be remembered

Such temporal torments are only the beginning 

Of eternal end and unmitigated sorrow 

For those who question the prophet

But God, in his great mercy, spared compliant underlings that day

And so, we, too, listen and learn, and learn to listen

From the prophet and his word

Only in recent years 

has there been one other challenger like the slithering fiend

Another recreant, full of lies and popish schemes 

That one addressed the prophet candidly in his own home

Much to everyone's surprise

The demoniac received mercy

He knew how to reform everything

After the offense was made 

A time was allotted 

For prayerful consideration

A child’s cross brought to the table 

Would become the final straw

As the timer drew nigh to its chime

Opportunity for repentance waned

And waned

And waned

The heart continued to harden 

And harden

Until

Everything within became reformed like him

Then the prophet, rich in mercy

And abundant in redemption

For his great love wherewith he loved his underlings

Quickened him 

And made him sit 

in the heavenly places

So that in the ages to come

He might show the exceeding riches 

Of his favor

In his kindness toward those

He hath foreordained 

That they should walk in his ways

Rich Coast Gambling

 

You kept them alive. Now what? Seventy years in your pocket and you unashamedly invest in a sixth. But for what? The sixth doesn’t know you, yet pretends to while mimicking the real you. The real you is in their letters, followed by thirteen pages of gaslighting.

The real you doesn’t play by rules. The real game doesn’t require gimmicks or apologetics. Do you remember the technicolored dreamcoat of debate strategies? Yours do. What about the pen name deemed necessary to remain incognito, or the prodigal options of calls and puts, or the ozonating machines and rejuvenating powders?

Do you remember the emergency meeting about fleeing to Costa Rica? Yours do. They even wished you were serious. While you discover zealots in Uganda they remember your conceits. Apocalyptic delusions, unteachable spirits, and position papers only memorialize your folly.

They chuckle because you’re ridiculous. You grumble because they aren’t enamored by your conceits. At first they thought this imposition of a sixth was another Costa Rica. But then you doubled down in exchange for one more joker. 

Colonel of Truth

 

 

What is a dative

That was his quiz

Drilling, jabbing, spitting pride

Supposedly to prove a point

An imaginary point, too

Something to do with the sign of the cross

But most likely to convince his opponent

He knows better than everyone in the room

While he sits on his couch

Next to his doormat

And doting disciple

The unholy trinity

Of He, Helpmeet, and ὕβρις

Parrot Disease

 

I wish there was an easy way to say this, but John was right about the jailor.

Tireless propaganda tames all but the few whose faith is whole.

 

I remember you well. I don’t remember everything, 

but what I remember from back then is the same I heard today.

 

You are hurt. Nobody responds to your stupid texts.

Nobody calls you, or checks in, or pays you a visit, or invites you over. 

Always deflecting. Always insulting. Always hearing but not listening.

Always gaslighting. Always the victim. Always the expert. Always the same.

 

Fifty-eight minutes is all it took to remember why your four distanced themselves.

In your eyes the four are Stewards. Milk does feed calves and dung does not.

 

Always reformed but never reforming, and trying to make them think.

That milk is the same sort of thing as sweat or dung.

One is always the soldier at war. One is always attacked. One is always justified.

That one is a horrible human being. Not horrible, as in wicked—

 

—horrible in the sense of pathetic, and mean, and hypocritical, 

and self-aggrandizing, and argumentative, and petty, and embarrassing.

This is why your four don’t bother with you anymore.

Tireless propaganda tames all but the strong whose hearts they break.

 

Seven letters plus I

 

I see your lines, circles, crescent moons and stars, all commenting on your new creation

Looking closely at each letter to learn what's in them for you

Of the holy one, the true one, you underline with dark blue ink as one who knew life itself

Vindicate them, you highlight, as one who appreciates the lord's faithfulness to his people

Every page is saturated with ball-pointed feelings of childlike curiosity and trust

You valued the cost of the crown of life more than the acceptance of this world

Over and over, and over again, a star marks wisdom for your own application

Unlike the one who abandoned his first love, you now shine like the son, having been faithful unto death

Unscramble

 

Seflak is such a strange name

the odd letter functioning like a grade

upon its academic work.

 

I see the CD in the Ugandan’s hand.

And I don’t know how critical I should be.

Will that, too, produce another failure?

 

One can only hope my restructuring in pdf will be read

not just downloaded and tucked away down F’s memory hole

as another box checked to boast and know it all

Perhaps when my publication is for sale

Seflak will start paying attention 

and stop ignoring our differences

and adopt me as a Sealak

Woahk County

 

BS.5 is spreading quickly in Woahk County. It’s a variant, so it deviates slightly from BS.4 Omega, and Daleth, which also exhibited slight differences from its deadly mutant strain, Diadem91, killing billions every year during the tyrannical and transphobic Trump administration. 

Even with prior infection, BS.15 is seemingly more transmissible. (Seemingly, as in a biosecurity-state agenda that seems to have no end in sight.) BS.5 is also seemingly more immune-invading. This new BS invades immune systems like no other immune system has ever been invaded. The good news is that the vaccine is working! Severe illness and death are both battled against around the clock by each and every hard-working vaccine. 

This is why the time is more critical now than ever, and Woahk County is issuing a face-diaper mandate. Face-diapers are an important additional tool to protect against widespread infection. Face-diapering is a critical public health tool.

Dots and Caps

 

The adopted one speaks like her Papa. Always innocent until proven guilty. Always the victim. Always the humble and wise apologist, asking useless questions related to imaginary foundational gaps, accompanied with poor grammar and reasoning. Always tearing down strongholds made with privatized perception within the echo-chamber of Dr. Pops. Then come the dots...

As the Papa is predictably defensive and insecure, yet overly confident inasmuch as he overcompensates with ridiculous anecdotes of self-aggrandizements, so this newly adopted daughter is blinded by her own conceits. Blinded by his, too, they remain an embarrassment to all those who truly care about them. At least for now. Maybe it will remain forever. Maybe it won't. Then come the all-caps.

I certainly hope not. Just as I hope she learns, before it's too late, that she's not his daughter or covenant child, and he's not her father. Her actual father is not evil, as her Papa claims. The only way out of this mess she impetuously plunged into is to think for herself, and question big Papa's authority. That's what his real children did. They grew tired of playing his stupid games, which only won them stupid prizes. Then comes the position paper. 

What I learned from Willy

 

We must know truth 

We do well to avoid error 

Our knowledge is a drop

Our ignorance, a sea

We need only act 

And keep acting as if

The thing were real 

And the real will become 

Old fashioned hell-fire

Preaching and teaching 

Producing fruits 

At full conversion value 

Epistemology is communal 

Yet I have liberty to disagree

Because one’s love of neighbors

May not be as of one’s self

The easy habit 

Is ignoring data

The popular ritual

Obtaining unity in one’s mind

Truth is a stream too great

For any single mind to take in

No single dip or dive is universal

Truing is what we do to pass through

Doubt is not

The lamentable loss of certainty 

But the positive possibility 

Of certainty 

On this one thing we do not agree

The absolute divides us

Therefore, let us not become parted

By such trifles

We must respect

Sacredness of individuality

Outwardly tolerate 

What is not Itself intolerant 

We, instead, embrace

These vices of adroitness

swindling and their indulgence

Also, cant, and sympathy with cant

Make it go away

 

Jesus with long hair

Paul with crotchety everything 

Both are blind and lead the blind

Like a circus

Around and around

Fleas could do better teamwork

Because the robotics could save them 

Our maybe, just maybe 

Jesus and Paul are the robots

Programmed like toasters 

And tea kettles resting 

On shelves of good will

Until some thrifter thinks a good idea

To invest in them just to throw them away

And make room for better junk on the shelf

I don't often say this

 

But I wish he would come back

And explain himself 

This generation is not that one

At war with each other

Signs and portents were all around

And adversaries cast down

Like lightening 

If he was here

I’d ask which English translation was best

And then smirk

He’d then smirk with me

Followed by jokes and laughter

About the memes he inspired

And the magical letters he composed

‘I came back already,’ he’d say confidently 

‘Once was enough for me,’ he’d chuckle

While sipping a crafty concoction I made

We’d even take a selfie together

To prove who was wrong all along

And its caption would be priceless

‘He’s back! Just not as promised.’

To be true

 

i.

I love your integrity 

and balance

Not one day goes by when I don’t admire

your thoughtfulness and brilliance

ii.

I have a library

But you are the true intellectual between us

I think everyone around us notices the same

I study and write what is speculative and controversial

You study the concrete

You dwell upon the practical,

the efficient 

I am a mere table of contents

You are the poem, the trilogy, 

the biography, the book

with the best binding

I learn more from your book 

and your teaching 

than from all other sources taken together

iii.

You love life and are grateful for it

You don’t complain

Instead, you rejoice when it’s appropriate

iv.

You grieve for others 

more than your own lot

You are the source of peace and contentment for others 

for every moment between

You’re genuinely interesting, too

Being artistic and crafty just adds to what makes you so immensely intriguing

You’re also logical, but not annoyingly logical

v.

You don’t boast in doing good

You just do good constantly, 

thinking of others, 

even with age appropriateness

vi.

You listen and consider

and learn and process 

prior to slight adjustments to your own convictions

vii.

It is the wise choice—taking into account techniques, timing, planning, and outcome—that becomes worthy of your consideration

You choose well, and that often reflexively, 

instead of choosing too much or too little as a habit

viii.

Like a plate full of garden varieties and delicacies, you always nibble with choice—rarely a mouthful, 

never any stuffing of face

You save for later so you can savor later

A to-go box

is for a full plate 

that you can foresee 

being impossible to finish 

ix.

I remain mesmerized that you listen, 

not so you can weasel around words 

to get your own thoughts in

but to hear and respect and work with others

And to make them feel heard 

You even choose to not listen at the most considerate times,

in order to be more productive and fruitful

A gracious spirit is evident the whole while, too, each and every time

x.

You work constantly

Your energy is as beautiful as you resting after a long day

When I peak at you while sleeping I think, 

‘I can’t believe this one is mine.’ 

Adding to all of this, you’re sexy, fun, exquisitely modest, and positively incandescent

xi.

You are honest and clear in communication, and cute in your mannerisms

You are winsome and kind, careful and patient, generous and courageous, loyal and dignified, stable and trustworthy, resourceful and blissful

You are the most admiral person I have ever known—the sweetest, gentlest, most natural embodiment of maternity, femininity, and coadjutricity

You are the most valuable friend of my life

xii.

Thank you for everything you are

Thank you for everything you do

I lack nothing with you

I lack nothing because of you

I love you

Thank you for loving me