eucharistia

In the hushed quiet of thought

far deeper than the bubbling of day

and beyond the passing of diminutive thoughts

about oneself in all that it is to be oneself:

the pain of not letting go

the drudgery of a word spoken out of place, 

in the dead winter of one’s loves 

and farther still in the fibs held by bones.

There stands the tenderness of dawn 

again, an amen.

So are the days which mark a path

wrought with wonder. 

As if Christ himself at table to dine,

pulls another chair

pours another wine

offers his own 

for your bread that never arrived.

There, gratitude wombs prayers recalled

to seed again the heart covered. 

Come awake, softly whispered.

how to possibly die happy

(just as it is) just as it is here, now

may it forever be,

are worthless trinkets for summer days spent

to oneself malnourished

fed a steady diet of happy

in a word, as a penicillin to give chase to

a plague: doom

may that and those forevers be greeted

as a visitor arrived unannounced

as bitters gently stirred

a drink, incomplete in its absence,

  of doom

  to sour a stomach turned on

  hollow smiles

sometimes I think, too

much is made of not enough 

I feel the weight of my smile

my heart pushed by

my mind taken by

the thought of 

being fully 

wrong

the wood beneath my feet

barely afloat

planing on waves hungry to swallow

chaos comes, just as it should

to be, just what it should  and

every heavy smile banished into

another day

made pure for the here of then

in another word, cousin of doom: felicity.

hello.

perhaps you should turn left.

To think you will live forever,  unaffected
    is to
expend borrowed energies
bow to kiss your own feet
and  raise your voice
to sing the saddest song
known
to angels

And 

to thieve forever
    is to
pull at the breeze
hold onto nothing
erase yesterday
    to
rob from Peter / to ignore Paul

If I were a bird  I'd
clip my wings  but
I'm not - 
a man instead
    and so
I'll break my legs
to remain
here  aware
of morning

come away
fall
    back asleep
beyond  the break where
the sea is settled,  resolved
to swallow sailors
and lives unwholly  put
together

W E   A L L   H U R T

deep within on this path to know ourselves better we sacrifice opportunities and encase our own hearts by foregoing ugly things such as doubt and suffering fearful we reach a point where we hurt so badly that we awake and so instead we sleep and annihilate our hearts each morning for breakfast. we are the killers lurking within stealing each tear so that our smiles never persuade you otherwise. maybe we should turn left at this next bend in the day. 

image: Left, by Piermario; licensed by CC 2.0

we, the people

We,

the creaturely in the wheel

humbly come

bearing fruit and forage

signs and prayers, for some

still(ed)

We the creaturely, in the wheel

spinning like stars

drowned in celestial expanse

numerous we are,

a promised bemused bunch

We the creaturely in,

the wheel

not home nor hospitable

but alien grown akin

refugees tilted to stay

the ground lay

claim to our stakes

irrevocably driven too far, in wake

We the creaturely in the wheel,

creep and crawl

mine for reason

blind to panoramic views

peculiar little gods shuffling about

while the flowers

and the birds

and trees

quizzically wonder and shout.

image: Spinning Wheels

those who know.

so much depends
upon
seven minutes given

for ink to fill
the spaces in my heart
carved by sympathetic smiles
who know
poets are ghosts

men not fully realized

maybe dreamers or lovers
or broken boys
scampering through adulthood

perhaps they do know

this ink
it scratches a new line
bridging
man to boy
as stars in the sky

image: Star