There is a thought
Inside a man
Who swears the idea can
Change the world.
On his forehead the sweat draws
Itself to the contours of his
Face in confirmation,
The essence of intentions with
Only good in mind.

And when the thought is brought
Out into the open
The idea breathes itself into existence
And takes the form of a polished
Feature of morality.

In the idea the light shines in the darkness
Of the world and it becomes
An ideal that leads men into
Action based on the purest intent
At the very center of the idea.

The idea becomes cannon
Like a holy scripture found
In the darkest deepest cave lost
To the oblivion and found by
A flame that feeds itself
With fires of ideas and burns
The whole of himself for the sake
Of the thought.

In these men intent and action
Can be seen,
Born of an idea with light at its
Core and purest intention
Of the heart,
And one can see the idea burns
The whole of a part of the world.

there is no sanctity
in the way you caress my face
although i always convince myself there is.
it's kind of like religion in that way:
all of the words
and thoughts
and actions
that created us
and linked us
are probably
fabricated lies.
and yet, i still look to you
as if you are a font of holy water
inside of a church,
as if your contents
were blessed
by some higher being.
i'm constantly getting drunk
hoping that maybe this wine
will turn into the blood of christ
or the blood of you
but it doesn't,
and i just get more drunk
and less whole.
it's a pity, really,
that i continue
to be so pious
and so faithful
to you, to god
when the only thing
the two of you really have in common
is you both love to let me down.

Beautiful, I Agree
Destined for the sound of Applause,
in the Parade Grounds of Eternity.
It is the Soul of Faith Held High

Hope Revered as the Highest Vision of the Land
Who's Hand is it we now Hold?
Love's Great dwelling upon the Earth

Let it be the soft fingers of misery redefined..
that she too is brought Free from her Service in the Sorrows

Starving masses
Silent, for a Leaders Light
Witnessing Miracle of Giving
Gratitude, for a Dove's First Flight

Radiant Freedom of the Night Sky
So Powerfully Lifted by Love..
Returning, as the Bright Eyes of the Day

Seen everywhere
as Heaven's Faith in Blessing
Miracle Risen Possibility

Freedom
Service for Eternity,
Called Forth,
Cheering from the Grave,
She is Ours to Love forever.

1.

Start in darkness —
we are animals giving our bodies to one another.
Simple creatures never pausing in breath. A tongue there
left no room for future. The foot in throat,
a replayed film disappeared in the corner of your eyes.

This is our heaven that I’ve been chewing for years;
tell me does Exodus taste something like this?


II.

Commence in 7 days of making lands.
Creation formed blue blood on dry ground
& you repeated my name like you never had before.
Wild tooth snarls but no gnashing of teeth.
Ear filled howls of our own eradication,
other worlds couldn’t hold
under my step.

Promise me you’ll never promise you won’t leave.

Now forget that. Forget the
postulated attempts to what held
ourselves sinew to bone to a darkness felt.

If there was any other way, I’d meet you half,
hands full of cataclysmic delight.

You aren’t your own,
but neither I am.


III.

This time start infinite.
Complex figures found, formed haphazardly;
jolts of lightning & unholy moments of divine
interpretation. The body sings contours learned in
womb kept supernovas.

If this is escape, I’m perfectly drunk
& you’re blurry constellations.

All explosions end in destruction;
a variation, a line
that follows heaven to

where we weren’t really simple animals
after all.

I remember quite distinctly
The night the Angel came
Hovering above my field
And calling me by name

Fred, the Angel yelled to me
Waking all my sheep
I yelled "you stupid ****** twit"
I've just got them to sleep

He said a king was born to man
And I must go to see
I said, "I've got these bleating sheep"
I don't do this for free

The angel said follow the star
All the way to Bethlehem
I told him, you must be ****** daft
My next shift starts at ten

I've been around the world a bit
And I've seen a lot of stunts
But this angel hung right in the air
And his wings did not flap once

He said there is a child
And he will be the King of Kings
I didn't really listen much
I was still watching those **** wings

The sheep were going batty
The field was bight as bright could be
I said, of all the shepherds round here
Why did you come wake me?

He said to travel swiftly
And to follow yonder star
I said, I'm off to bed mate
I'm not going on that far

Then there came a bolt of lightning
He had barbecued a ewe
I thought this bird means business
I mean just what could I do?

I left my flock with Charlie
The shepherd two fields over one
And I said I'll be back soon mate
I'm off to see the holy son

I met up with some others
All of us had the same tale
Of an angel flinging lightning
So we all felt we best bail....

I got there in December
I'd been travelling for months
The only thing I thought of
Those wings...did not move once

There inside a manger
behind an inn...full up each day
Was where I saw a vision
I'll remember to my last day

Three wise men dressed in robements
A little kid, and his tin drum
Some donkeys and a camel
The baby Jesus and his mum

Dad, was in the corner
All alone hanging his head
He said "How could this have happened"
"I never left the bed"

I looked upon the baby
And I looked down upon that face
He looked at me and smiled
You could feel a state of grace

I really didn't know then
What I was here to do
But, now I know my task was
To tell everyone I knew

So, I started out on homeward
To tell old Charlie of the kid
I picked him up a present
Yep..that's exactly  what I did

I guess the world must owe me
and this I 'll stand and shout
You could consider my gift to Charlie
Was the first true  gift given out

Now, I sit and watch the sheep here
People come up just to see
The shepherd who started gifting
The shepherd...that is me!!!

You are fighting again
And want me to come
To worship at your temple
Of the dazed and dumb
Who are led so easily
By the mention of God
And find us who question
To be diseased or odd.

Don’t sing us songs
About your holy wars.
That is really not what
Praying and progress are for.

You dress yourself in medals
And thousand dollar suits
And pretend merchants
Are not your family roots.
You think to disguise profit
As your one raison d’etre
So you speak flowery nothings
And haven’t made sense yet.

We have untold resources
To heal the lame and poor.
Endless war is not what
Praying and progress are for.

You create your holy mantras
About defense and protection
While every kind of help for us
Meets with official rejection.
You make excuses to invade
And make money out of death.
Then, make up tales of threats
Until you’re almost out of breath.

Don’t sing us songs
About your holy wars.
That is really not what
Praying and progress are for.
We have untold resources
To heal the lame and poor.
Endless war is not what
Praying and progress are for.

stoop side you sit
fallen angels with broken knees,
40 ounce amber galaxies &
palms of prayer on an open mirror.

The benefactive is Columbian is
endless stairs on roofless buildings, is your
cracked knuckles of powdered meaning —
metallic shifts in the parking lot holy
begging thunder to threat everything
at once,

so then you can forget.

You prayed for all the wrong pronunciations
& when you sleep demons graffiti epistles
on the walls of your exposed chest.