I speak in
words
cremated,
scattered
with the ashes
of a
burning
cathedral.

My fathers
niche of combat
lingers
in brainwaves
bonded
and bleeding

A harp string
plucked
at birth
in a twilight frost
still humming
on the thawing
lawn

Fossils
of claws
dragging
tombstones
crumble
in petals
of the black rose
gifted

I washed my face
and I looked at my reflection
I thought about forgiveness
And connection
and how you hold on
to all my imperfections
I washed my face
and I looked at my reflection
I saw 5 o’clock shadow
and the resurrection
I thought about a beard and jesus
and how he seemed to find direction
I saw in my eyes a child
Looking for affection
I thought about fatherhood
and how I lack perfection
I washed my face
and saw in my reflection
A man with a vision
Blurred by his depression

Winged sculptures
crash in a glass
avalanche
window
of fleeting muse.

Splintered cavities
bleed shadows
into patched auras.
A cloaked Christ
plaster cast
rides shotgun
on the spinning wheel.

conquered gravity
haunts crusaders
of crushed diamonds
crazy shining
in zig zag lines
of cocaines finest.

Bridge over bitter
waters roll
into broken buckets
down river
falls frozen,
shivered.

Catapult snaps
cracked
in half setting sun
wild spring rains
tamed
sent to asylum.
Home on the range.

I may need to rest here
The chill of wind and warmth of fire
together leave me wanting
to be free from time

My rucksack is full now
of sunsets and days spent
hitchhiking in search of the divine
I must unpack a while by the fire

This artifact I see in the light
is a map to where I sit
now in the cloak of shadows
and dancing yellow flames

Each trinket I have carried
for so long is the same
A journey in itself, a parable
all leading to this place

Muddy waters of the coffee shop stirring
anxiety and fleeting caramel undertones.
Hipster sporting an iwatch lingers unforgiven.
Testimony on the too small table
a folded napkin soggy under one leg
but keeps the surface sturdy.
The barista a hidden genius, happy
to sweep floors and wash windows
with a wisdom tied tongue and golden mind.
A service dog tied to the bike rack stares
with purpose at the winding line
to caffeinated triumph over lack of drive.
And my foot taps to the beat of a song
I’ve never heard and hope to not again
as I write past the margins
in a tie dyed notebook cantilevered
over the edges of the sugar coated table

Oceans spills from
tear ducts
skin shimmers
salty.
Mosaic flashlight
plays shadow
puppets on
the empty portrait
hung for show.

Vanity and glamour
wander like
stick figures in
skinny jeans
collapsing
in a laundromat.
Soiled, in need of sorting.
Hand wash gentle.

The lizard with
a busted heat lamp
and empty fish tank
crawls over
salty rocks
and looks deadpan
into the weeping eye
of human shadow.

Death smells like roses
In an eternal garden
where I mend fences