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Poetry sits 

I wish people knew that God doesn’t come to me and demand my focus, the idea of spiritual change is disheartening and difficult, and my heart sometimes thinks itself more religious than my brain. 

I wish for faith like the poor wish for coin and the hungry for grain. 

I wish they knew nothing is promised and we sweep each other to the side, and we write to fill the spaces left in the streets, and that poetry sits at the dining table with influence and insolence and images of what we see and what we wish to see.

Fullness

Sometimes the weight Settles

And you feel like a 

Mammoth sits heavy on

Your upper shoulder,

That the weight of so

Much sound and color

Outside might break

You in half,

That the fullness

Of reality might be 

Too much to carry,

And in those moments

A woman calls

And she tells you

That your back is broad

Enough to carry the moon

Across the sky,

That the weight of 

So much color

Outside might put you

Back together again.

Musings on tile

All the tiles in LA are white.

Some are old, yellowing 

With chipped grout.

Some hang three degrees 

Right of normal.

Others are missing corners sharp,

While towels hang drying 

On hooks of art.

Still all the tiles in LA are bright,

To mask the dim and dreary plight

Of bathrooms kept neat 

in a comfortable house.

Little moments

Little things sayhello or goodbye, 

i see fun in the dark of eyelids

little things from people,

who mean big things in life, 

see small requests, 

fulfill giant needs, 

somehow one person 

I want to see is never 

the one I thought could mean 

quiet moments to me 

in the deep of the night, occasionally we look to 

our past, but we smell it in 

minute moments

hidden from our daily struggle.

From up here

I saw Christmas lights from
My plane tonight,
Aisle 4, window D,
Switch backing from green
to blue,
red to white,
Flying from bright light
To bright light.

From up here,
Street lights look like foot steps,
Up one side and
Down the second–
Evenly spaced like a
Slow moving neighbor
Takin’ his time on a
Saturday afternoon.

Next time I’ll take acid first.
The flight will be more interesting
And blinking lights
Will make the world
Spin a bit faster.

Santa has to land somehow–
But not before a trip to
Birmingham
Prague
Moscow
Denver
Seattle
Los Angeles
New York
Las Vegas
My livingroom
Prison
Court
Six feet under.

I hear the city lights are
Stunning this time of year.