our mothers bruising and our fathers lying

on a floor of goosesteps and nasty arms,

I think we keep the worst in us

safely set from sight

and so much in love

with the sin and the spit of it all,

waiting to snake our skin and

show the world our Caesar suits.

When once I left and fell to pray,

I saw in that summer moon

Saint Paul on the side of a road

lined with tanks and guns

and I cried and I smiled and I gave in,

with my arm straight out in the sky,

knowing then I’ll never want more

than to want you to want me,

and to kneel.

Tonight we smoke and drink
And think of those
Who have passed on

Tonight we raise a glass
To laughter past
And good times gone

Memories of those whose
Friendship was true
And love was strong

So tonight let us all toast
Those we loved the most
And held so dear

Yes tonight we’ll celebrate
We’ll stay up late
Just like you’re here

Just like you’re here

When I first put you in the box
it was hard
I did not like you being there
but I understood why that was
where you must go

There were no choices left

Once a week I used to take the box out
and open it
We would visit
laugh and cry together for a little while
Then I would put you back and wait for six more days to pass
before I could say hello again

We do not visit anymore
I no longer take out the box
But every morning I open my bottom drawer
and push aside my t shirts
to make sure you are still there

loud with radiance

at the precise pitch

of a newborn’s cry or an old

man’s last breath

Distant watchers project the

past onto the backs of

the first blossoms of ideas

and watch them wither

snickering wings of dismay flutter

amongst dreams, shifting them in abject

absurdity

I read psalms written by children from religions yet to be seen

they beg forgiveness for the scars of past faiths

and wash blood from the eyes of their ancestors

His treasure chest held all the masks
of the men who had gone before,
but grandma left it once inside
a dry Arizona railyard.

A small apple orchard now marks
the loss with fruit too sweet to taste
without a thought of golden thrones
and Nile running north to the sea.

through the tinted windows of my iris and I let

pain flow through my toes grasping at elusive echoes

Clipped wings furiously attempt to fly but instead climb

raindrops one at a time toward lightning that

feels like love and tastes like copper on the tongues of fools

who smile at the wrong times and say the wrong things

and still reach the right places

Grinning madman in a thunderstorm

rain slides down the back of his neck and it feels

like Gods sweat or heavens tears

or the last time you held her

Palms upward waiting for droplets

to turn to diamonds and grenades hoping the world

will die rich and I’ll open my eyes to a freshly grown

Eden where I eat the apple and throw it at the snake

and march out of the garden with the vigilance of

self righteous teenagers or a bible thumping fire and brimstone minister

Voices sing goodbyes with a slight lisp

wearing the night like a klansman hood hands

make the sign of the cross sitting at the edge of a cliff waiting

for eternity to arrive and when it does it is only

a child with sad eyes and no lips who shakes his head

and asks you questions without speaking and

when you cry he dries your tears and leads you home