So we live life
Live it with theses...
With these things...
These things...
So inaptly named
All the time
Wondering
Confused about things
Like why these photographs
Really aren't frozen memories
And looking back
On love and such
Realizing
It was so much more...
Much more than...
More than...
Words
Used to name things in the end

Wet paper towels,
And broken candy canes.
I'm cleaning again.

You asked me if I was okay,
And I continued to throw scraps of paper in the trash.
I'm cleaning again.

Ten minutes ago your eyes danced with mine,
And now I'm wiping away the marker stains.
I'm cleaning again.

I toss my feelings down
But no amount of scrubbing can rub them away.
I'm cleaning again.

You spent the day with me,
And I'm cleaning again.

taut the barb which my heart
flung away and adorned – such language is black while
many others have their places that silence
   had fractured.

the punctual shadow of the night,

                                   I converse in them
   through the pulse of the roots and their
   consistent counter-beats.

the many others, whose centers encircle
    heavy in their viscera:
enisled as a conference of birds
    in plenitudes of brindled mouths – the augury
that sees itself, my full being – this nocturne
     of stone-flight. the cosmic working of the sky
that hands me, a necklace of stars which implausible pearls
   simmer in fond gleaming: these foundlings that are
         dreamt away, and named innumerably across
   many other anonymities we recall with a throng of sound.

   in my hands the night folds like an origami
   conscious of its florid ikebana,
       as there could be another splendid thing
          like the calm: glimpsed, coveted like the light
   of all things grave in darkness.

What kind of man is this
To report his mother for begging him
To abandon hateful folly?

What son is this, so depraved,
Would shoot her in the public square
With jeering blood-seekers cheering?

What kind of god must this man seek,
To end the life of the one who gave him life,
To what end would such a god demand obeisance?

Perhaps a god this is,
Whose thirst for blood would raise
The dripping flags of war
And bathe the world neck-deep,
Up to the horses' bridles in gore,
But he's no god of mine.

This god is not the One
Who sent His only Son
To give His Life in the name of peace,
To save His friends and love His enemies.

This god is in rebellion,
Denying his own creation,
Lying to himself,
Reviling peace
Because it bears the image of
The One True God.

Enviously manipulating,
Beguiling the children of Eve,
Desecrating the human form,
Dividing the human race,
Heaping doom upon doom,
Calling damnation on himself.