It Was Very Dark

it was very dark so trees reared up like monster men with mouths that gaped—in giant maws but dark. and close. and stark. – the night was starbled bright! a legion full of many men like scuttering roaches in the light and sticks and staves and might. – “Jesus come, step near.” the ringing call […]

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What Was It Like?

What was it like to wash the feet of sarcastic Thomas? Or hear bombastic Peter claim, by withholding, his superiority? Or what to smell the earthy mix of sweat and dirty toes while awkward glances flitted round? Or what to wash the traitor’s feet? Did he pull back or full extend, eagerer than anyone to […]

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If Only…

Long like thought, the water swirls. Deep the flow of life and death. Deep his thoughts, where Pilate sits in steaming mirror circles round. – Deep the flow of life and death. Deeper still the war inside. In steaming mirror circles round, he hears the spittled screams and shouts. – Deeper still the war inside […]

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The Man

Long the war had torn the world apart with souls the casualties and souls the cause. The enemy ensconced and great in art made war the hope, and hopeless doom the laws. Silent lay the prophets’ dusty truths that glittered once like lanterns in a mine. The wise men slept in silence while the youths […]

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Sunday Morning

Here at crimson dawn he prays, the sounds of morning, futures near. Beside, a honeysuckle’s curled like serpentine around a pole as far away a restless chaos rides the breeze. – Low, a patterned spokenness: rising pleas and murmured, earnest prayer. A form in quiet conversation lone. Just away, a vineyard tower, Tended by the […]

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Beware the Shower

Turn your brain down in the shower or you’ll be there for an hour, and your thoughts, though bright and soaring, will not reach the water bill’s flooring nor crest the tidal waves of hate crashing as you pull in late— another battle lost in rhyme to your nemesis—Time.

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You think too highly of yourself, oh mind, to answer questions God as yet has not. It is a wisdom of the baser kind that storms His silence with unbridled thought— for who can cypher symbols from the dark or wrangle possibility to stage, to poke and prod and deftly pin the arc of Spring’s […]

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