Showing posts with label Epexegesis. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Epexegesis. Show all posts

Sunday, February 21, 2021



I wear this mask

For my mom

Whose fear of germs explains everyone else’s today.

I stay at home 

In solidarity with this terminal generation

That is truly sick and needs the support

I wash my hands

For my neighbors

Who rub their eyes and touch everything in isle nine as I do

I stay six feet away

For small businesses

That welcome slitting each other's wrists

My family won’t be getting the shot any time soon

Others deserve it far more than we do

It would sicken us, and we would be forever changed, if it were any other way

Most importantly, we order take out

For family and friends to be safe from pathogens

And to slow the spread of this virus

Just kidding

We never order take out

We regularly go to the restaurants that don’t harass us for not wearing masks

Saturday, February 13, 2021


People these days

    Will believe anything

        If enough propaganda 

    Is fed across media 

To foster public credibility        

    This is especially true

        Among those who consider

            Themselves enlightened

                 Or credentialed  

                    In any remotely  

                Related industry

            That utilizes

        All of their own



    All that actually matters

        Today is convincing public  

    Perception of investment  


    It doesn’t matter what

Is actually possible

    Science knows no boundaries

Outside of what its peers review

    So it’s most important

        For tech and science 

            Industries to market 

            And sell compelling philosophy

        As a product 

    Rather than actual

Tangible working products

    Religion sells more

    Ideas than it produces


    The world has been sold

        A new philosophy

            A new religion for less

                Than a hundred years

                    And yet it has grown 

                        An immensely lucrative behemoth

                            Of ‘private’ industries

                            Although largely publicly funded

                        That appeared successful

                    And have been identified

                As such over decades

            Due to marketing

        Strategies and investment

    Opportunities for multi 

Billion-dollar enterprises

    Although religion has been mocked

        And ridiculed over these

    Same decades of recent past

Religion has certainly not disappeared.     

    It has simply evolved according to its own self-fulfilling prophecy.

Thursday, February 11, 2021

The Crucified

O God, my God, why have I forsaken you? 

Far away from blissfulness are my entertainments! 

O Most High, I cry for days and you will not listen! 

I roar beyond moonlight, waxing and waning

Yet, still, my addictions tarry

Do you dwell in foolish ones—in their praise?

Our father hoped in you, and was not blissful

Toward you he cried and was heard

He was heard, and was still put to shame

And I—I, too, am a dumb animal

A beast of the field and vagabond

I aspire to carry the torch of our heritage

Yet all those who view my profile deride me

They mute my feed

They snope each fact and report missing context

“This guy needs help.”

“He denies Science.”

“Let his god save him, because he can’t be reasoned with.”

Because you are the one who graced me with instruction

You are the one who infused me with theories of conspiration

Upon you my work ethic was baptized

Out of your bride my spirit of laissez fair was birthed

Please do not draw near to me, because I have no profit to offer

They troll my accounts like flies—hundreds of them

Like GM Mosquitoes, they prevent offspring from surviving

I was shut up like a mason jar

Poured out like the cold residuum of a french press

My soul is pierced

My cells, poisoned

All hope, lost

I laid this corpse of yours down into dust

To watch more television

To stream more social media

To remain relevant and informed

Until our final judgment

Sunday, January 31, 2021

Pantry for Canaanites

I can only afford one meal a day

when I need fuel to stay warm

But my sins are forgiven

and eternal life with God secured

I live on crackers and write letters

because this world hurts my eyes

with all of its broken beauty

stained by sin according to His plan

I live on chips and dream

of my children remembering me

and my love for them

and our God with all of His beauty

I live on applesauce and speak freely

among the crumbs that fell

from my master’s table above

They touch my lips and wipe away my sin

I can only afford one meal a day

when money is low and I need fuel to not freeze

But my sins are forgiven

and eternal life with them secured

Thursday, January 7, 2021

In God we trust

Today I found a bag rescued from the town and country

like a feline with no name

meowing and scared, afraid of being found

with pinches of value

She tucked away each memory

individually wrapped by fingers drawing closer to divinity

Fifty two here

Twenty two there

with no explanation as to why

And then just one quarter was wrapped by its lonely, satiny self

minted in 1983 — In God we trust 


Are there such things?

Then came the receipt of cleaning supplies

paid for with an even five doll hairs

purchased exactly three months before never worrying about them again

Only twenty seven cents was preserved from germs that hour

Then, magically, one single penny appeared

wrapped alone like the nibble of a sandwich saved for future hunger

with 2019 stamped across its face

followed by another nibble of 2019

each sealed by a plastic knot so if one escapes

the other is preserved

In God we trust again

I now touch the closest relics

before life everlasting

touched me

Friday, January 1, 2021

1st week of 3rd jubilee

I see your troubles, invisible to me

I breathe your air, suffocating me

I dream your imaginations, portending of me

In the dream 

We draw near the gate of God with breakfast cakes

I also ascend silently halfway up the mount with chunks from my wounded gut

We silently discuss the merits of muted screaming

In the dream

You hate because the demons eat your pain like starving gluttons

You mock because the demons applause and cheer like it’s monday night football 

You bite through flesh because the demons love seeing wives get slugged in the face 



We all gather around the room

from a hundred miles or more

to pray and eat

and hold phones

We watch a large screen

with no sound

and think of what to speak

with vaporous breath

We hug and shake hands

with love thawing in each embrace

except one with whom there is none

for to thaw might look like tears

Friday, December 25, 2020



I sit in its seat.

The brown weaves crackle below me.

The process begins, and this cold concrete doesn’t offer me advice, 

like it should.

At least there are no more flies 

biting, like they were around the trailer, 

nagging my ankles and forearms with questions.

I now bite myself with questions

for myself 

young and old,

to see if dead men do bleed after all.

How can there be reconciliation without metamorphoses?

How can there be a ‘we’ again without transfiguration?

And not the superficial kind, with how-are-you’s and what’s-new’s.

The last ten years of those have been boring,

showing that they never knew how to care

beyond patriotic duties and civil niceties. 

I would have preferred anything really attentive instead.

I still would. 

But I avoid much of it now.

The broad, sweeping excuses,

the punts away from guilt and pity 

and empathy. 

There’s no interest in exploring or learning.

There’s no questioning.

It doesn't even matter if the grass is greener on their side.

All that matters is that there is true grass on their side.

Yet I still see weeds.

I also see unnecessary hours of mowing and money on fuel pissed away.

They’re all experts before the conversation begins, too.

They only unveil one goal, even if other offers lie beneath.

Blame the student and give him a bright red dunce cap as a gift.

They think they know because they presuppose 

and can read minds. 

They keep their distance, too.

He’s heterodox—barely Christian;

and barely is a kind description. 

Let’s presume he’s really evil or foolish or both.

Some sugar coat morsels with justification and predestination

as though those mysteries encompass and satisfy life’s queries.

Others just pounce with feelings and peacemealing.

Others with just law.

They don’t read between the lines, beyond shakespearean wherefores.

They prooftext tropes and demolish idols. 

Context matters little in their apologetical schemes. 

When a boiling point is reached, they ask vagaries.

’What’s your problem?', as though there’s a missing key 

withheld from them with childish cruelty.

To even share a problem is to implicate one’s self as the problem,

unless they share the problem. 

And to claim to have no key is to deceive. 

A brief list might suffice, though.

Will they even allow one to be offered?

Then more blame will return to the sender. 

Did you vow to love through sickness and health? 

I can hear their squeals now—She did it first! 

In what ways do you think you failed us? 

I hear ignorance and deflection masquerading as principled profundity.

Now is not the time to spring this on us, as though we keep a record of such things.

So then, forget about the years when we were too young to understand. 

Do you remember any ways you failed us as adults? 

The sound now becomes difficult to interpret. 

It’s either a rhythmic chirping or blame shifting

like none of that matters. But it’s a sound nonetheless

—the sound of having moved on. 

Yes, some mistakes were made. Some.

Let’s not talk about those now. 

None were serious enough to warrant disdain now

Let’s all acknowledge it superficially and shout that from mountaintops 

so we can all move on and not relive the past.

More than ten years have passed predictably,

and I still I don’t like or want that. 

And I don’t want their grandchildren to endure that either. 

I could have that with anyone. 

I could even find parts at Walmart to fix it.  

What we need is more valuable and difficult to mine. 

Remarkably, I have found a path toward it now.

I drove around its buildings and sidewalks. 

I parked on its roads and played across its playground. 

I walked its yellow brick road. 

I visited the apartment it lived in. 

I dined with its shepherd. 

I visited its library and perused the books it borrowed. 

I sat in the seat it died in and noticed the trees it sang about. 

I noticed the light it saw shining down from the one who reigns above. 

But they won’t talk with me about any of that. 

It remains dead to them while remaining very alive to me. 

They imagine this new love erupting in order to hurt them. 

Yet the truth is actually much more helpful. 

It offers me vulnerability and honesty 

—a life worth learning and exploring

What they offer is utterly replaceable. 

Wednesday, December 23, 2020

Do me a favor

Do me a favor

Quit posting about your mom

We’ve all moved on

If you need closure

I understand

But please, not on a social site

Do me a favor

Learn to r/e/a/d

I hear a lot of attack

You were not there

Her notes are purely subjective

You were way too young to understand

Do me a favor

Learn to r/e/a/d

She was sick and homeless

She could have picked herself up by her own bootstraps

She could have lived off government assistance

Somehow her problems became your dad’s fault in her God forsaken mind

Do me a favor

Learn to r/e/a/d

She refused help from us

She doesn’t get a free get-out-of-jail card

I don’t care how sick or homeless she was

No amount of help would have been enough for her

Do me a favor

Learn to r/e/a/d

I can’t let you beat up your dad so badly

He is hurt

He’s your dad

And to not allow your kids to know him is hurtful

Do me a favor

Learn to r/e/a/d

Why haven’t you reached out to him?

Who knows how long he’ll be around

There will be regret if you don’t when he’s dead

We are family damnit

Do me a favor

Learn to r/e/a/d

We tried to help her

We tried to get her help

She made excuses

We then refused to enable her illness

Do me a favor

Learn to r/e/a/d

If she would have accepted help

She would not have been homeless and died alone

That was her choice

I’m not being mean; I’m just being real

Do me a favor

Learn to r/e/a/d