Friday, January 30, 2015


What Lives Refuses to Leave the Room

Nobody loses mystery, if nobody wants. 
The cold shadows of winter, but I ask for them  
by revolt and contradiction, fragments of the whole. 
I give the paradise I breathe. 
I release my feet on earth. 
I offer up blue cloudless skies. 
My eyes leaking. 
My tongue crazy fire.
Lips improvise eternal murmur of Yes. 
Words are raucous crows and black. 
Let the witches take what I've learned. 
Do not worry for me. 
I've have a strange understanding.

Thursday, January 29, 2015

There is a tenderness
in the center of cold

streets
that smell of incense and flowers

days
when hands embrace everything they touch

dreams
of Costa Rican beaches in spring

smiles
in the unattainable sky that I see through another set of eyes

Tuesday, January 27, 2015

Broken open by

by the dictatorship

of beauty

poems

like wisps of smoke

in mind and joy

strike me like a bell

a thousand times

alive in all my skin



Monday, January 26, 2015


January 26, 2015

old winter teaches us
trees are a dream

and from exile

our first home

we learn to dream differently

from daily death to paradise

 


Thursday, January 22, 2015

Twilight was sick from the television; the world disintegrating, screams, sirens. His dreams had become violent and he could sense a beast's breath bubbling up from underneath the skin of the earth.

"Should I order the chicken sandwich? Because the earth is warming. Chickens  are no longer chickens. Humanity is losing. I'm sorry. Diet soda  is bad for you. It's a tragedy. Some part of me wants a gluten free pizza. People are dying of unnatural causes in Japan. I have no attachment to them. My underwear is made in China. Maybe I'll just have water. Frailty and evil are human nature.
American is a great cheese, you know. It's all going to work out. The earth is already the new purgatory. I'd like my chicken cooked thoroughly because of the salmonella. And let me remind you Jesus is on the web with nothing inside him, sad as war. My heart is a tiger with the lungs of an elk, the legs of a horse.
I'm praying too. I constantly worry my death will be senseless. Life is the smile of the brave."

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

"I don't know who I am but I know where I want to go."

The sun rises. Like a wounded angel Twilight Jesus lies in the desert. An evil spirit, in the shape of a vulture, circles above him. In the desert where there is milk and honey. Out of vicious dreams he dies and is reborn. There is no time. There are no tasks. There is a voice from somewhere singing about the quivering of simple things.

"Perhaps I am not myself
here on earth
a projection of a dream.
I appear ghostly
but my eyes emit light.
People talk just a little too loud 
for the ears of my heart. 
The sky is a stigmata. 
A little girl asks me 
 if all Saviors are from outer space.
I pause for a long time. 

Everything is from outer space."


Monday, January 19, 2015



In a rented room at the edge of town

strange things, miles of blue

or the man with no hands 

playing flamenco guitar

and shadows streaming across the naked wall.

 

Finally, in a calm voice, Twilight Jesus says,

"What am I actually seeing? I long to return 

to my simple life among the never ending,

ever expanding eyes of mother suns

birthing daughter suns to even farther moons.

I love you."