The young people dance and make merry with glee They flock to great parties and savor strong drink All preaching the gospel of Christ’s gospel dispelled Seeing futures shine bright with the promise of hope The greatest trick ever pulled is a deluded man’s myth While the wise ancient men sing a song of sad death All the animals crawl out at night But during the day they walk the streets upright Many a rabid beast’s gotten off of his leash Then demons work horrors with the hands of a man God’s children die, parents cry, people sigh, and politicians…

Every day I wonder if I should kill myself or have lunch

Every day the number of hours someone else has spent for me grows larger

Every day I get home weak and dim
Strafed and broken

The fog is thick
And I long for rest
Healing touch
Gentle bed
Warm blanket
Peaceful dark
A slow calm
Then I think about the grave

Last night I rested and left the work undone
Last night I turned off the light
And found the pillow and the bed
Found the blanket and the rest
And thought about the grave

And I awoke…

When I look into her eyes time slips and needs end
A divine spark from the primordial light of creation is burning there
Panacea
Infinite Grace

I have in ignorance sought to put it in words
Or rather
I have put words to it in vain
Like Socrates at the Symposium
And countless others
Windows to the soul
Orbs of azure peace
Always the eyes
But it is not the eyes
It is the light

If you look in her eyes you will see only black holes and your reflection I cannot reveal Only behold These lines will never shine…

Let the Good Land bleed
Wide-open and red
Let it be drunk with wine from the veins of the dead

Let the Good Land sleep
Let it rest and slumber
Let it gather its strength from the breast of its mother

Let the Good Land lie
Let it stop being plundered
Let it keep all its wisdom its substance and wonder

Let the Good Land rejoice
Let it rise up and thunder
Let the joy of its heart-song finally be uttered

Let the Good Land weep Let it mourn what is lost Let it mark the Earth forever with the…

Like memorized color from the edge of a flame
I feel I’ve written this poem before
I know I’ve read it too
It’s all been down
A thousand times
A million ways
But never exactly like this
And yet
Somehow
All the sad guitars know your name

But they cannot make it sound the same Not like the voice of the Lord speaking light Not like the echoes of grace in the night Gone are the diamond peaks And golden valleys That belong along the syllables All that’s left Are signifying sounds that do nothing but show That all of…