I haven’t the wisdom
to soothe the grieving
nor comforting words
worth believing
But, I can cry
for a broken heart
and I can pray
for it’s broken parts
to find a way to come together again

Welcome to the landscape
It's distorted dimensions
What he sees
and what he breathes
Welcome to the skin of it
to the cracking bones of it's heavy undertaking
Now, walk with him
if you can
if you can bear the strain

When my own folly
paves the road to ruin
I rage against God

Everyone else is taken
So, you may as well be yourself
Rejoice in who you really are
and leave the mask up on the shelf

At the moment
of his greatest despair
he leaned back hard
his arms and hands outstretched
as if nailed to a cross
All he could utter
of his inconsolable grief was
“We’ll get’em next time”
But there is no next time
There is only today
and today a sort of death has crawled
up inside him to mock
all his worn-out platitudes
Like
“When the going gets tough
the tough get going”
“Tomorrow is another day”
and
“It ain’t over til the fat lady sings”

The appetite of time
is insatiable
It devours all
that was once mighty
and leaves
nothing but
the odor of decay

Sometimes I think
that dumping my vices
would in itself
create a crisis
Today the notion
to give it a try
leaves my leg hollow
and my throat dry
I find a glass of beer
to be blessed
and abstention
to be a great a test
of all that pious men
have written
about love of God
and religion
So, here’s to what
wins the day
and to hell
with what my conscience
has to say