saturday | october 31 | 2009

halloweenies.

reach your hand to the bottom

of the bowl and fish out as much

as you possibly can. plunder the

depths with sweet handful after

sweet handful. throw yourself

into unending celebration with

unblinking commitment. taste

the moment with a cleansed palette

and unending thanksgiving.

friday | october 30 | 2009

sleeping on the sand.

i look through picture frames

and read in books about paradisal

places. my heart is replete with

longing as it seeks its home among

blended oils and tattered pages.

but painted images and terza rima

will fade in time and there will be

nothing left except the shadows

of forgotten promises and broken hopes.

the search compels us out of time to

find where things will not decay and

where tableaus dance in resplendent

light while maintaining their shape

and offer warm rest on sandy shores.

thursday | october 29 | 2009

saturday afternoon.

i'm just checking the air in – oh,

yeah. we're good. so.

what do you say?

we'll go for a ride

through the park and

around the lake, and

see the ducks – i

know you like ducks – and

we'll stop for a second, and

take off our shoes, and

feel the grass

slip between our toes, and

we'll interlock our fingers, and

make for the water – last one

there is a rotten - you

don't like eggs – and

you'll beat me there, and

i'll catch up to you, and

knock you over, then

i'll kiss you, and

you'll shriek with joy, or

just play coy, i

never know with you, and

you'll insist we

wade on in, like

you do, except today
i'll agree:

it's a perfect day for frozen feet.

wednesday | october 28 | 2009

sweet blurs.

it's a pity we can't look

at two things at once. though,

i'm sure there's some lesson to

be learned in this.

indeed, if i were meant to

focus intently on my face,

or the way that i walk, or

what my hair looks like, i

would have to extricate my

eyes from my head in order

to see. as it is, i find it impossible

to get a good look at my nose

without a killer headache.

when my gaze softens and is

directed outwards, however, sweet

blurs come to view, silhouetted

in the same dim corridor where

i stand, and now we walk

side by side toward the light, and

each step replaces obscurity with

further clarity, and we become aware

of our common goal of stepping

fearlessly into the endless sun.

tuesday | october 27 | 2009

grapefruit.

i've heard people can live

to be 93 if they

eat two grapefruit every day.

i don't really like grapefruit.

am i screwed? or is

there something else for me?

where do i find some

other food that will

sustain me beyond

the life i expect,

and offer me something

that smacks distinctly of

life everlasting?

monday | october 26 | 2009

rivalry.

i hate this tank.

i hate that stupid little fish.

look at him, swimming through this place

like he owns it. what a dick.

i could take him. no problem.

but, then again, he's a plucky

little devil, and i don't really

want to swim around, bleeding all

over the place.

it's probably better to just let

it go and find some peaceful

alternative. we have to share

this tank, after all. it would be

a little awkward to raise a stink

at this point.

there's an ocean, i hear, that is full

of possibilities! of threats!

exciting.

i can't even guess what i'd find.

i wonder if i would fit in.

probably not.

maybe it's better to have hateful

company than none at all.

then again, it would be ideal

if we were co-fish who could

swim together, and not just

through the same water.

sunday | october 25 | 2009

direct flight.

if i had my choice, we

would go ahead and

just skip the

layover,

and go right to

our homes and collapse

into our beds.

saturday | october 24 | 2009

a fairy tale ending.

is it so wrong to hope

for a fairy tale ending?

as i look back at the

bread crumbs that held such

promise – they seemed like

a good idea at the time –

it's easy to see exactly

where i went wrong.

the wolf-riddled woods

hardly seem as frightening

now that i'm out of the thick.

except, i realize, too, that

grandma's house is no longer

an over-the-hills away.

by now, prince charming –

it's probably more appropriate

to say princess charming –

has recycled the glass slipper,

knowing it's unsafe to dance with

footwear that can shatter.

midnight has been struck;

the illusion is broken, and

i'm just a stupid pumpkin

who keeps wondering:

is it so wrong to hope

for a fairy tale ending?

friday | october 23 | 2009

the problem with a liberal education.

why are so many things

so interesting for so many

reasons that are so intricate?

i think frost was conservative

to speak of only two paths.

it's hard to make a choice

that spurns a million others.

playing the same token, it could be

philanthropy, or it could be

modern dance, or it could be

knife-throwing. no matter what, the problem

is the same: what will it be?

stumbling through a dimmed intellect i know

that one yes is a thousand no's. so how

does one choose when cancer needs healing; when

the great american novel needs writing; when

souls need saving; when society needs leading;

and when girls need songs written about them?

who am i to exclude anything

from the mosaic of possibility?

thursday | october 22 | 2009

unleash the dragon!

i like funny faces;

they're a nice change

of pace.

it's like you see

what is going on

inside someone –

we're all aching to

let that inner self

run wild;

sometimes the only way

is to stick out

your tongue.

we could be anyone

but we are who

we are.

we are the only

faces that can make

these faces,

and that's something that

truly is a cause

for rejoicing.

wednesday | october 21 | 2009

here comes the Son.

i wish i were a bug sometimes,

because then i would naturally be

drawn to the Light instead of having

to force myself out of darkness.

tuesday | october 20 | 2009

punch-drunk love.

i want a love that makes me

more powerful than anything imaginable –

someone that breaks me out of this

neurotic prison and grabs me by the face,

slaps me around a little bit to wake

me up and says, "my love is fierce."

i want someone that i can fight for

to the death - or the pain, whichever

she'd prefer. i would throw myself through

glass for her. i would smash windows, crack

skulls, and maybe even shake babies on

her behalf. my love is fierce.

i would eat shards of metal for her.

i would crush her fingers with a hammer,

suck her eyeballs right out of her head because

i'd love her so much. she would be so beautiful

that i would slam her face on a grill to

watch it burn. my love is fierce.

i'm stretching through space and time

to find her, but i know she's there, nearby.

she must be because, talking about her, i sweat,

and thinking about her, my vision blurs, and i trust

that amidst the chaos and cacophony of

life, she will find me ready for her fierce love.

monday | october 19 | 2009

auto-pilot.

i feel like i'm always moving

from parking lot to parking lot

never stopping to see anything

just all the time going and

i'm never where i am looking

for the next destination knowing

when i get there that

it will not be the right place

and i find myself asking the question

how did i get here

way more than i could have imagined

so what do you do when your questions

only fall on your own deaf ears

and somehow plot on trusting

a redirection of route is at hand

and a gentle female voice suggesting

turn right in point-two miles but

you pray that the next parking lot

will afford a home for you but

then you remember that real homes have driveways.

sunday | october 18 | 2009

1955-present.

i imagine those were simpler times,

then. the whole family gathered

around the radio, and heard

a program. sometimes little johnny

would act out the avengers, or little jane

would pretend to bring to life the

little orphan, annie. there was an

activity in the air.

television hardly makes a worthy guest.

the family nightly invites peter griffin,

or steve harvey, or 7th heaven over for

dinner, offering them the seat usually

reserved for the guest of honor.

they will talk and talk, and the family

hangs on every word, rapt with unfaltering

attention.

the unending buzz of the television

fills all room for relationship with

meaningless white noise. when was

the last time dad and johnny threw the

ball around? when was the last time

mom and jane got their nails done together,

or made cookies, or did whatever women

in a post-feminist society do?

and to think, the gays pose the biggest

threat to the nuclear family.

saturday | october 17 | 2009

okay.

okay okay okay,

pretend like i'm not

talking to you,

no no, don't

look at me.

okay.

this party's dead. let's

get the hell out of

here and get

some food.

sound okay?

friday | october 16 | 2009

goodbye.

it must be nice to be a bird up high,

no thoughts of worry, cares, or even pain.

it'd be only the blueness of the sky,

no economic plights of loss or gain.

so many places i would like to see,

like new york city in the fall, and greece,

and spain, and prague, and boot-like italy,

then prob'ly london and the middle east.

the perk i'd like the most i have to say

would be the means to fly away from you.

it'd be just me and night until the day,

then i'd get lost in all the endless blue.

it's my hope that one day i'll be free

from ling'ring dreams regarding you and me.

thursday | october 15 | 2009

groves and grace.

what california needs is rain.

the land is way too brown

and the grass is way too dry. i think

it all prefers the wildfires because

at least it has something to do

other than wither, which,

i imagine, has little appeal.

even a light sprinkling would be

nice, just to get things going a

little, i mean. also, it's

hard for drivers to adjust to

the rain, so it's probably best

to bring it incrementally. things

get weird.

but still, with rain comes new

fruit and with fruit comes satisfaction

as the harvest is evidence of hard

work now made complete. we remember

that the farmer plants the seeds,

but has no meteorological vote.

it's really more of a right time/right place kind of thing.

wednesday | october 14 | 2009

narnia.

Fairy Tales are more than true; not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.

- G.K. Chesteron

the king of beasts sings

a world into being.

from the mud come creatures

to join the chorus of the ages.

the son of the emperor-over-the-sea

from the beginning walks among them.

it isn't long (as with all good stories, of course)

before evil sings with discordant contempt

for that which rises from glory, claiming

the created with cruel, cold winter.

even father christmas gets it rough.

but amidst the frozen fields and righteous

turned to stone, the great lion is on the move.

he establishes the fighting few as friends;

he knows their names. they are badgers, they

are beavers, they are mice, and they are men

whose hope remains in the deepest magic.

we find ourselves among them

in their joy and in their pain.

we assert with all the faithful

that, while good, he isn't tame.

we find, too, that we've joined

their singing at the feast,

and, thus, have become willing

to die with noses pointed east.

tuesday | october 13 | 2009

the open door.

am i coming or going?

sometimes it's hard to tell.

i suppose it's one of those

both/and situations, but that lends

little resolution to the question

i'm actually asking.

i suppose before opening the door to the future

it's vital to open the door to the past, and

enter the room to examine the photos

that sit atop cabinets framed in unforgiving

remembrance. these accusing mementos

never disappear; nor should they.

beside them are family portraits and

childhood videos and old baseball trophies too.

i guess we take lessons where we can,

noting what brings the room together

and what really seems to clash, hoping

against all conviction that

the room next door still needs decorating.

monday | october 12 | 2009

3=1.

three distinct lamps

yet i see

one distinct light.

i guess it

makes sense that

they would work

together, and not

insist that any

glow is more

or less spectacular

than the other.

it's just curious.

together they light

the wall, never

overpowering one another,

but existing together

separately, but in

a simple unity.

it makes sense

in a somewhat

dimly lit room.

i guess it's

different when cosmic

law is involved.

there is some

saint whose name

escapes me (sorry,

buddy, it's nothing

personal, but really

you're hardly the

point anyway. come

to think of

it, you'd probably

just as soon

i forget your

name anyway) who

said, "i see

One Light, and

i see Three

lights." i guess

the Trinity can

do whatever It

(They?) wants. new

mathematics is hardly

an issue for

the One (Three?)

that speaks and

things become. at

any rate, three

Lights in perfect

harmony light the

path, and we

must walk it,

allowing ourselves, perhaps

forcing ourselves, to

live, maybe even

bask, in the

indescribable warmth and

glory of Father,

Son, and Spirit,

for by Their

Light all things

will be seen

both now and

ever and unto

ages of ages.

amen.

sunday | october 11 | 2009

home. part ii.

I get by with a little help from my friends.

- The Beatles

this is my home.

you are my family.

i'm about to lay it

all out there.

i'm intelligent, and i'm goofy.

i say inappropriate things, never

missing an opportunity for that's-what-she-said.

i'm compassionate and usually funny.

i sometimes offer good advice,

that is, of course, when i'm

not trying to sound wise. i love you

deeply, and often need a second chance.

i don't always say the right thing, but

i sure do know how to give a back massage. i know

most of your middle names, but i'll always

forget your birthdays. i care how you are,

unless i'm busy thinking of myself. i'm not

good-looking, but i have pretty nice eyes.

i'm a little bit of a coward, but am certainly

over-protective. some have called me clingy;

i prefer the word vigilant.

i recognize beauty, but find it difficult

to appreciate art. i'm not the most athletic,

but that doesn't stop me from playing.

i lack confidence, but i'm a really good actor.

i runaway from conflict, but will readily forgive.

i stumble every day, but still hope to find Christ.

in this circle where we've all got each

others' back, you let these things be true,

and my deepest, truest prayer

is that i do the same for you.

saturday | october 10 | 2009

home. (attempt #2)

The Church is revealed to all as

a brilliantly lit heaven, leading

the faithful in the way of light.

Standing therein, we cry aloud:

make firm the foundation of this

house, O Lord.

- From Post-Communion Prayers

this is my home.

you are my family.

i'm about to lay it

all out there.

sometimes i can be loud.

also, i wear tattered jeans, and

i don't always iron my shirt.

i can't really do much about my breath, though.

my tithing is minimal, and

i think about girls while trying to pray –

i've kissed too many in my time.

sometimes i cross myself like a catholic.

i don't always hear the sermon, and

even when i do, i might not listen.

i find the bible a difficult read;

television is frequently more interesting.

i like to swear, and have probably

set a bad example for the youth –

i find them more laudable than 

most of the people here. sorry.

i like to smoke.

being drunk is also kind of nice.

i think superbad is funny. dirty jokes

make me laugh and cringe – but mostly laugh.

i have eaten meat on wednesdays.

fridays too. i am selfish, proud, overbearing,

boisterous, irresponsible, unhelpful,

lazy, sloppy, a little stinky,

at times a malingerer, and occasionally hurtful.

i also isolate myself, but right now

it's nice to put my feet up.

i have a hard time believing in my value,

not being able to see the forest for the trees

as i constantly replay the scratched tracks of my life,

and i like to take refuge

in my identity as a sinner,

rather than my call to be a saint.

forgive me for all this, and know,

we'll probably have to have this conversation again.

maybe not.

but probably.

friday | october 9 | 2009

the land is my heart.

so much construction. abandoned buildings

likely built on sand. it's all empty and

the sky is bleak.

if we dug down through this

concrete divider, what do you think

we'd find? a god-fearing civilization?

at least it might loosen the soil.

thursday | october 8 | 2009

benjamin.

i see what i want. it's right

in front of me, but somehow

i'm barred from it.

how did you do that so quick?

it calls me. i think it's my

fruitless search for purpose

clouded by –– uncertainty?

i could never do that. i'm just not musical.

everything i say has 

the sound of recurrent avoidance.

can you play hide-and-seek 

with yourself forever?

see? this is why i think you should be a teacher.

i float on, careening through each day

never really knowing where i'm headed.

maybe one day i'll make a difference.

i learn so much from you every day.

you have no idea.

wednesday | october 7 | 2009

hello, there.

i see this going one of two ways.

one.

we embrace this. we go for it.

we fall madly in love. marriage. babies.

retirement. i'm not so sure about

the white picket fence. i'm cool with the dog, but

i've never seen much use for half a child – let's round

up to three. we would find a little place

in the mountains, or by the beach.

at any rate, we would write each other

love notes that would make the kids sick.

i'd like that. and footrubs. date nights. 

and most nights we would stay in.

or. two.

we embrace this. we go for it.

we fall madly in love. marriage. babies.

but things get a little weird when

you start asking jimmy-the-pool-guy

to give it an extra good clean while the kids

experiment with lsd and pcp and crack and

we become grandparents at far too young

an age and you keep telling me to fix the 

sink and the shower and there's a leak in

the roof and one thing after another and

i collapse into myself like a dying star.

so.

do you want to get coffee?

tuesday | october 6 | 2009

love note.

i like cute feet, and

you, my dear, have the

cutest feet i've seen

in a long, long time.

monday | october 5 | 2009

the empty chair.

i keep imagining all the things

i'd say to you if you were

sitting across from me.

would i kiss you or curse you?

i think more than anything

i'd like to say goodbye.

goodbye to second guessing

and biting my tongue. goodbye

to never knowing.

i'm not sure if i would

ask you for anything.

probably not.

i want to close the doors and

the windows too. because then you'd

know when too much was too much.

i'd probably tell you about how

good i've been without you,

or even how busy i've been.

after a while,

i might offer kind words

or inquire as to how you've been.

sunday | october 4 | 2009

20/200

i think i need new glasses,

as it's getting hard to see.

i can't check out girls' asses,

and i squint while watching glee.

it's hard to drive at night,

and words are just a blur.

and even once in light

i thought a "him" a "her."

i stepped on my frames

now it's off my face they fall,

and when at baseball games,

i can't even see the ball.

to see a play on stage

is a truly pointless thought.

i can hardly look at pages;

i see lots of little spots.

there are different kinds of eyewear

that are all nice and trendy.

but no matter what i wear

i'll still have laser-vision envy.

saturday | october 3 | 2009

tunnel.

one mississippi.

i've never been afraid of the dark, but

lately it's overpowering. in fact,

it's practically all i see.

two mississippi.

it's past mistakes,

anger gone inward,

and regrets – those damn regrets.

name it.

three mississippi.

it's everywhere, the dark. it closes

around me and

presses heavily on my chest,

assuring me that i really am worth hating.

four mississippi.

but, goddammit, i wish that

were the end of the story.

it's those few lights – those few

precious lights –

that point me to a brilliance

uncircumscribed and ineffable, one

that speaks – the light at the end –

and this hope is at hand.

five mississippi.

but i'm still in the fucking tunnel, wondering

when i can stop holding my breath.

friday | october 2 | 2009

look at that.

doesn't it look like the sun

is being muscled out by dusk?

but he's, like, not going down without

a fight. he's losing – or something.

look at those trees, framing his light.

it's out there somewhere, you know. do

you see it? no. i don't really know what "it"

is either, but i'm sure

it's real.

i want to slide open the window

and fly fly fly. i don't know where

i'd go, but rooftops and trees must

make new sense

from a birds'-eye-view.

i think i'd chase the sun.

i know right now, i mean, look at him

will you look at him, please?

he's saying he'll be back. probably

tomorrow, but no promises. we get

each other, somehow, in this moment where

i look him in the face and he tells me

to keep hoping.

keep hoping for the new day.

thursday | october 1 | 2009

sometimes.

i'm never really sure where i stand.

observing? resigned? ready-to-go?

none of these seem to

adequately describe where in the

hell i am. somewhere between

here and there?

limbo, i've heard it called?

somehow that doesn't satisfy.

middleman. nowhere man.

how did i get on the beatles?

or.

maybe it's just that i should

live perched on the edge, overlooking

the life of the world, where

all that's left for me to do

is simply to jump.