Monthly Archives: January 2019


like a
fiery brand
thrust deep
and searing itself
hot onto my
child’s heart
by steel hands
clenched in
bruising fury,

by the words
that shaped my
“sorry, weakling, worthless, pathetic,”

smoldered by
memories of
misuse and cruelty,
habitually reignited
by new brutalities
wrought ever more
treacherously by
new power-holders
always seeking to
throw their
own gasoline
to fuel their

was always there,
a true friend,
constant as
the north star,

This is not right.
There is something just.
There is Peace.
Find it. Choose it.
And call this what it is.”


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my hope for us

for Paul Axton

I am reminded of
meandering conversations,
winding purposefully
through epistemological
puzzles, driven by
adrenaline and the pleasure
of newly discovered
shared curiosities,
until the yawning, dark,
early morning hours
finally convinced us
that we could
talk again tomorrow.

These talks were all
answers seeking questions,
certainties seeking doubt.
And, of course, books
and books and books and books.
Always a step ahead, you would
let me catch up before
throwing me off again,
saying, “This way.
Come over here and
look at this!”

It was you who changed
all my perspectives,
as my obsession with
divine knowledge
gave way to
I remember
going home to bed
flustered, nursing
soul bruises from
resisting what I
was beginning to see
clearly. How it
changed everything!
How nothing was the same!

Years later,
it’s all ethics and evil,
storms of prophecy
and hamartiology
as, together, we have
struggled to make sense
of the injustices done
by those we have trusted,
and labored to produce
a message of justice
for all who’ve
suffered far worse.

My hope for you and me,
is a someday place
of deep green shade. A
grassy place near
trees and water,
where birds sing and
God’s myriad creatures
wander. A place
with two chairs, a pipe
for each of us, and
something to drink nearby.
A place where we can talk
and the sun doesn’t
go down.

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you bastard.
I know and
have known
too many
of your followers–
often masquerading
as humans.
You can
go to hell.
God knows
you’ve made enough of it here.

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I dreamed of you last night.
We were alone and
happy just to be together.
It felt to me like we had
just found one another,
having been parted and
lost in a great thronging
mass of distant strangers that
stretched as far as I could see.

We held each other tightly, like
two people hungry for affection—
starving of loneliness and
frantically afraid to let go.
We kissed like the first time and
my heart beat so deeply
in my chest I thought it
would burst with
happiness and relief.

When I awoke, I found that
we were holding hands—
our noses almost touching.
Your hair curled perfectly
around your ear and your
eyes were closed so gently and
I was desperately relieved
that you had not been lost,
that you were safe with me.

My heart still pounded as
I tried to capture the moment
because I knew that,
soon, we would get up…
make coffee…get dressed.
I would drive one direction,
you another and we would
again be lost in a great
crowd of strangers,
looking for that moment when
we could be together again.

I realize now that,
if I could change anything,
it would be to have you near me
all the time. Every day. And
if I couldn’t do that, it would be
to make a place where I knew
you could be safe and sound,
happy and content until
I could come back to you.

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laughing, dancing in
weightless freefall,
it drops gently on
the earth with
a soft kiss–
bringing with it
brightness and stillness and
creating tranquil new
landscapes as it
blows and drifts
in the sharp-frozen wind.

once fallen, sitting
heavily in its place,
it droops branches
where still green leaves
and needles poke
their way through dark
holes, revealing
newly hidden places,
strangely warmed
by their icy blanket.

little eyes awaken to
find their world
transformed in purity:
a soft new playground–a
joyful new monochrome
respite, ironically, breaking
the monotony of their
day-to-day, even as
their laughter is mixed
with the distant familiar
hollow scrape of
flat metal finding concrete
as, sore, bent, and cursing,
bigger backs struggle
to find their walkways
and driveways.

in the early evening,
the sky darkens again, preparing
to cover the day’s activity
with a new layer of soft
joy. I look out
and see a nimble fox
at the edge of the treeline,
bright-red against
the blueish white. She
looks my way, undeterred
by the cold, before
disappearing to find her
warm den.

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slight-statured, long-
sufferingly standing
still through sun,
storm, or supercilious canine
circumspectly and
specially stationed for
service in spurting, soaking, and
spraying specifically when
circumstance summons


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gentle friend (one sentence)

Gentle friend, tirelessly
falling along,
trickling your way
through this dense forest,
watering its trees and
wetting its moss
with your clear coldness;

in the Summer, you
cool these shady places and
patiently smooth the
colored stones you find,
refreshing all whose sore feet
make their way to your
steady flow

until, carrying away the
brittle leaves of brisk
Autumn which, dropping
tenderly, find their
way to your banks, you

prepare for the Winter,
when your ceaseless
hopeful movement
meets the sharpness
of the freezing wind and
you become like
transparent stone,

resting peacefully in
anticipation of Spring’s
lively call to wake up and
begin your dripping,
dropping movement

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