Friday, November 28, 2014

Twilight Jesus

Twilight's ground zero transformed his reality, his personal asylum of demons. The curse entered his mind before he could open his mouth. He liked the burning towers he saw when he read his own palm. He liked how the high priests tried to scare the demons away, even though he knew the demons would always win. He's had two dark side omegas but he doesn't like to talk about them. He'd like to collaborate with Spirit , but he knew Spirit always works alone.

"I can't stop talking about the weather, waiting for death. It's a facade. It's a rush, maybe. A window. Life. Magic. I count the raven feathers left behind on the neighbor's doorstep."

Thursday, November 27, 2014

“I think from some uncertain reason
Mercy will be shown this season
To the lovely and misfit
To the brilliant and deformed”

--Tennessee Williams

In the Presence of Flesh

There is no story like that of another
prayers hidden in their nightmares
nothing we can know more than bridges from the underworld
that could be very close
and full of secret gifts
finishing neglected promises
unraveling old riddles

But it's myself that rips apart
to stretch and flow and crawl
in the day the night devours
before the fire sweeps me up 
and shadows
My hunger has a thousand names
and on the street redemption waits in the vacant lot where nothing appears to grow

Wednesday, November 26, 2014


see us through beggar’s eyes

see closer

and hear more

do not pretend anything

because you are the golden lure

rising from the deep recesses of the water and stones

to float on the surface of the mind

Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Saints tired
of the miracles
are smoking cigs,
lighting Roman candles.

Their hands 
strange and clammy
rub away smog
from their eyes.

The weight of the world
is too much for them.

How sad they are
to now be crumbling
in the daylight.

How they wish
God would restore
those long fallen doors,
passageways to the sun.

Sunday, November 23, 2014

Twilight Jesus

Twilight points at the sky. He needs something to look at and when the wind blows he blows. He has everything to do with the birds and the lazy sweetness of days stretching to infinity. 
Under his bed locked in a suitcase, his collection of the favorite last words of people before they died like: "I'm a piece of bread the world's been eating," and "why is the heart alone in the chest?" 

"I couldn't have awakened to a finer world. Everything is well balanced. My greatest flaw is I thought I had been chosen for a special task as I swam through the night looking for lost children in this garden of stones. Every king and every warrior is a child in the grave. Crows bring the darkness down in their own shadows. I came into the contours of time to walk on words, down the path they promised me, and more so."

Saturday, November 22, 2014

Found lost treasures in
fragments / with questions by night / prophets holler out Hallelujah 

another shadow master                / My own wayward mouth /                           
my hours by the side of the road                          

outraged / If it should thunder and lightning / If I was the man / with incense and water / writing in a lost cave / as if a ghost / ordained by dogs 

Friday, November 21, 2014

my god is in the blue bony world

I was created in silence like biting dry cold,

walking barefoot in the snow.

Nothing more infinitely tender.

Nothing more beyond the drama of the streets.

A shadow grew up over the walls to the ceiling,

as if the world was ending as I was beginning.

I was raised in a house of mirrors without forgiveness

and a thousand times the wind swept me to the desert,

where I earned my hunger and my thirst.

I came of age waiting for my mind to be altered,

with plants, roots, chemicals,

like the blessing of the holy beggar wrapped

in shredded blankets under a sky full of migrating butterflies.