Sunday, December 22, 2013

Merry Christmas (From the Bottom of a Bottle)

gay lights sparkle from the eaves every house
and the branch of every tree
twinkling like so many fairies
watching me
stumble home in the dark
whistling softly to myself
songs of the season
and trying to catch snowflakes on my tongue
like a child
or a cretin
the snowmen glower
when I tip my hat in greeting
wishing them "warmth and happiness"
tittering at my own joke
just before collapsing
to vomit in the white snow
and from across the street a plastic baby
stares with knowing eyes
before turning back to his mothers swollen plastic tit

Sunday, October 7, 2012

Winter Lullaby


It was Christmas Eve, and we stood beneath a red neon sign
The snow melted under our feet even as it froze in our hair
She said I would need to smoke before I kissed her or it wouldn't taste right

She lit one for me and watched clinically while my inexperienced
Fingers trembled as I inhaled for the first time
Half way through my cough her lips met mine
They tasted of menthol and smoke and something spicy

I didn't know what to do with my tongue; it seemed rude to
Plunge it between her teeth but she didn't seem to mind as
She grabbed the front of my jacket and tugged me away and
Toward the back seat of her car

Thursday, September 27, 2012

An Epitaph

There were never many of us, the intellectuals, to be found within the ranks of the Independent Holiness Movement. Even now in this the Modern Age, the idea of higher education and an ability for the abstract is looked on as a foothold into hell by many of our elders here in the Bible Belt. Now there is one less.

We attended the same Church for about four years and we were never close. Since then I have spoken to him only a hand full of times. But there was an understanding there. We never talked long, but we never had to dumb it down. Something I feel we grew tired of doing.

What do you say when you look at a distraught family for whom you have no feelings as you overlook the body of a son taken too early? How do you make yourself heard over their tears and cries? How do you look them in the eye and tell them that they never had a clue the anguish their child lived with? They never had to pretend or to consciously avoid words with too many syllables. They have no idea what agony it is when your mind is screaming out for a connection with your family that doesn't require a mask. They fit. We do not. What do you say?

You say nothing. You look down into a pair of bespectacled unseeing eyes and you shed a tear that no one can find meaning in and then you straighten your tie and walk away.

Sunday, May 20, 2012

Naming

Once, they called me, "Chuckles"
because that is what I did for people
Back when the laughter came easy
and the smiles were genuine

As I grew older and more mature
they took to calling me, "Captain"
for reasons I'll not repeat
but told everyone it was because I was a leader

Then there came a day
when they called me, "Nothing"
and still do
Because that is all that is left


Friday, March 9, 2012

The Parable of Plebias

In the days of yore there lived a man.

His name was, Plebias.

He was simple of mind and led a simple life.

As Plebias would plow his fields he would sing. He would sing loudly and with all that he had within him. He would sing beautiful love songs, and tear up at the beauty of the words. He would sing songs to his gods and feel his heart stir with adoration.

People would stop at the side of the road where it ran to meet the edge of his fields and listen.

Plebias could not sing, but being possessed of great depths of feeling his nighbors (also simple people) loved him nonetheless.

As he went into town one day he happened upon a group of soldiers who were searching for new talent to be shared in the court of the King.

"I am a singer of songs," cried out Plebias, "I should sing you a song, alas my throat is parched from the dust of the road. However, ask any man here and he will say that I am a singer of wonderous songs."

In order to avoid offending the good Plebias, all of the men standing around nodded their consent that he was in fact a singer, knowing that the depth of his feeling would save him from shame.

The soldiers, tired of looking, agreed to take them at their word and took Plebias to sing for the King.

Plebias sang in the King's court.

In the Great Hall.

During a feast.

Before all of the Lords and Ladies of the realm did he sing.

He sang songs of love and of adoration to the gods.

He sang them with all the feeling in his soul.

He finished to a deathly hush.

His King looked at him...

and looked at him...

and ordered that his tongue be cut out.

Monday, January 23, 2012

Alone we are born
                Into this darkening world
                Stepping, blind, out in this misty realm
                Like Neanderthals of old we grope
                Grunting out, listening to the echoes
                Praying for a reply
                We shake bone spears, swiping in the fog
                Where are we?
                What is this?
                Never shall we know
                Always shall we wonder
                Forever shall we fear the answer

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Angel of Light

The universal constant is God
I have always known
God and Hydrogen
-those are the absolutes
Spanning the cosmos
In ineffable perfection
“Let there be light”
And Hydrogen fissioned
All across the Universe
Stars were born
Pieces of brilliance
By the Creator
Spinning orbs of fantastic
Illumination
Careening about
In suspended emptiness
A boundless imagination
Providing boundless wonders
God speaking Hydrogen
Hydrogen the new
Angel of light