Needing My Friend

Yes...we're gambling!

We’ve only our hearts to guide us this day,

where once we were more form than substance
now some kind of strange piñata

the bones of us covered in paste, held as body by crepe paper.

But no matter all that. Our hearts have GROWN

in equal measure to our deterioration and they have become

the governing force.

It is our hearts that beat us through those daily walks

to grease what’s left of our bitching joints.

Beneath these sagging breasts
beats the warrior child, the gator’s jaw

     fighting for
           releasing not
all that remains. We will

reach for our face to face moments...

two old souls, coming ‘round to a new innocence.

Our playground awaits.
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According to Facebook

According to Facebook I am smoking pot
According to Facebook I have left "the church"
According to Facebook my friends are of ill-repute
According to Facebook I am the latest newsworthy black sheep
for there is no greater pasture
than to drag someone else through the none of your business.

"Facebook is of the devil" she says
and I tend to believe her.
I don't go there
I don't even dare
because the grocery store isles are more filled with Annie
than any $2.99 per pound special on tri-tip.

I have a mirror
I have a soul
and God holds me beyond my push.
I have a heart that hurts just as much as yours.
And when you dwindle in your darkest hour...
those times when the sky and the earth meet as one inky blackness
enveloping a forgiveness you cannot find...

that's when you will realize I have learned something.

This egg splattered door will be your knocking place
and my knee the rest for your head.
That's when my Refuge
within His immutable echo of ancient truth
will be your harbor,
and some measure of grace and mercy
(perhaps more than I allow myself) will be served
until you can eat.

The black sheep have much to learn.
The white sheep think they should share all they "know".






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Come back



Stephanie and Me



Her smile dies in still birth
eyes weeping against the curvature
willowed lashes bent in the posture of submission
repeatedly coming up empty, but for a fist of soil
wishing to god-breath-it to life, into the shape her fingers trace, airly
above the space of a cavernous bed

I promised him
promised I'd take good care of her
because you'll promise anything when it feels sacrificial
enough for death

We watched each other fighting in separate wars
reached out a hand
but there was no trust in it
no salvation

We'd never needed each other more
or had each other less
I broke it Mike. I broke my promise

"So did she" his spirit assuages.
And he was that guy, that guy who never held you
to a drunk slur, or a bet you couldn't back.

I wanted to be better. More.

I tried to smile for her
she tried to navigate for me
and we both got lost
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