Anaversery

 

You are

the reason I write

the inspiration I snuggle

the poem of poems

the treasure of this story

words can't describe

Living the Dream

 

A glimmer of hope

A sliver of salvation

A blip of baptisms

Eighty six in one day

Some random dude I don't know

Is excited

Please pray

Your little cult made this possible

Your free labor made this possible

Tomorrow, more will be saved

Eighty six more, all because of you

Some random dad I don't know

Look at you

Living the dream

Ode 4

 

Where are you?

Not, Where were you?

No one really cares about the past

What matters is this time

With the accuser

Held by a seemingly long chain

Perhaps it’s all our fault, though

Imagining ourselves under your curse

Under the reign of death

Hurling through the vacuum 

Of meaninglessness toward infinity

Our fathomless distance from life

If it even cares

All we seem to care about is now

This present, this gift

This already but not yet

Along with paying our mortgage

And our taxes

You became man to warm our innards

To show us what love is

Whatever that means

While we lose our jobs

Lose our sleep

Lose our freedoms of self

Pondering this age of madness

The slave cries out

Where are you?

He doesn’t need hope

That some day you’ll both meet

And you’ll wipe away the tears

He needs you now

He needs to you here now

Not some future day

When the sea gives up its dead

For one hour of the thy faithfulness

Is more than all hours and years

Landescape

 

every now and then

we return to paradise

with eyes wide open

just before dusk

there we both smile

there a little mole is hiding 

in a pumpkin patch

among the perfect apple orchard

subtle tones of sunshine are all around

just the right shade on every side

all is wide open for viewing

its landscape even has one peach

and so we feast and nibble

laying and relaxing

you gaze at the heavens

i leer at the glistening horizon

its supple hills

with lofty pillows billowing beyond

are adorned with soft raspberries

i reach for one with an arm stretched out

you grab my hand to stay grounded

we feel the wind hover over us

chilling the skin

climbing higher and higher

there, at the peak we each find rest

then you ask

would you like to come inside now?

it's your turn

Magic Book Matrix

 

If ten people are laughing

    but you are not

        and you don’t understand why

            they are laughing

                you probably don’t get the joke

                    says the Aussie

                        triggered by the tradesman

                            who points out his lunacy

                                in matrices of fractals

                                    breathed by God

                                    to reveal the covenant key

                                which unlocks the Feast

                            of Booths in Succession

                        for Glorification on Day Seven

                    And so I wonder

                if ten people are laughing

            but the Aussie is not

        and he doesn’t understand why

    we are laughing

Does he get the joke?

Back Peddling

I remember thinking 

it’s about time

enough of being walked all over

finally we have reached an agreement

we have a plan

people are now paying attention

since no one wants confrontation

a letter is decided

in which there is agreement

and room for revision 

that way 

if nothing is commenced

after being promised

and promised

and promised again

with only the action of punting further

we have an appeal to another

who, too, can agree 

that it’s about time

to stop selling ourselves short

Then steps in a carnival 

of sacred heart song and dance

this will ruin everything

this will force into corners

we need more patience

we need to storm heaven wth prayer

we need to not offend

it’s his sandbox

it’s his sandbox

it’s his sandbox

we need to work with him

we need to approach him

we need to be patient

we need to respect his office

we are already on the verge

for many years

in the service of his immaculate heart

then I remembered

this is why 

nothing ever changes

The Goods

 

What a wonderful world we live in

with snuggling noses and arms wrapped around baby burritos

with strangers who donate stem cells to save strangers

with windows rolled down to hand out change to toothless souls in need

with pantries that give and give and give with no strings attached

with dolphins that swim around divers with sharks

with marines who push cars across flooded streets

with husbands and wives who laugh with each other and gaze at each other’s joy

without the back seen to show the facade of innocence

without the back seen to hide the mask covering guilt

without the back seen to thrust into the flesh unwillingly

without the back seen to remain employed

without the back seen to travel or keep your business

without the back seen to be accepted or hated by all

without the back seen to masquerade a sacrament of salvation

What a wonderful world for those who remain alive

Chattel

 

I was born a slave

Raised on microwaved lasagna

and Boston chicken

Sprayed in the face with lysol

All of my feelings ignored

I existed to glorify God 

and enjoy Him forever

if He chose me for everlasting bliss

instead of unending fire

Day after day

I was given schoolwork

I was handed chores

I was screamed at

Spit on

Beaten with wood paddles

and plastic paint stirring sticks

by cult leaders

I was forced to mow large lawns

with extension cords

and no pay

Waking up early each day

I was forced to sit in classrooms with bigots and pricks

I had few friends

and no one cared

I became sheltered, stuck at home

day after day

night after night

When I grew up I was given a real job

to caddy for wealthy people

swinging clubs at tiny balls

I would often leave my post 

and steal porn from Waldenbooks

When I buffed floors and cleaned urinals

I'd steal Newports from custodians

and smoke weed and pop pills during third shift

I ate cid and psilocybin to escape the pain

I moshed and raved to vent my rage

I drank and fucked around to indulge the passions

I lived paycheck to paycheck

eating junk food religiously

to chrismate what could not satiate

Everywhere I went I was sold shit

Shit to work for

Shit to shop for

Shit to live for

Shit everywhere that could not escape

without dying

Then one day I decided to end my life

and pull the trigger

and repent

of my slavery

to my childishness

to my laziness

to my virtue signaling 

to my hypocrisy

to my lusts

to my dishonesty

to my resentment

to my indifference

to my ignorance

to my immorality

to my foolishness

to my addictions

and accept my slavery

under a new Master

as a doorkeeper

in the house of my God

Paraklysis

 

I know you’re spying over me.

A little here; a little there, like a fly

that keeps showing up

in the car three hours away,

at mass while little bells ring,

and at poolside while typing.

I see your wings in each pass.

So I thought nothing of how I lost 

two hundred plus paper cutlets

after pulling out one thin slice 

to place in the fishing basket. 

I just figured you knew better than I

about distributing to those here in need