It must give God


when he tries to grasp

my mind

and still it with his love

but I keep jumping

and twisting and slipping

through his fingers

Fever of you

I am overwhelmed

by the fever of you

I look up and see you


in my imagination

your loving smile

presses the buttons

of my being



What’s the difference

between the left hand

of tomorrow

and a deep breath of next week


or going downhill  

out of control in a tunnel

and barefoot in damp sunshine

in a green grass field


the disconnect in bones and muscle

that comes with age

and the top of a reaching up leap

to grab the branch of a friendly tree


you can’t stay there swinging

for long

gravity won’t stop waiting

for you on the ground


Empty space sliced oranges

Sliced oranges empty space

chocolate balls and a way

of speaking to the absence


with no roof

there is no point in walls

nothing to walk away from

unexpected pages

a struggle with words

no way to comfort  


empty space orange peels

chocolate wrappers

an unexpected short story


Continents of anger

wp-1482907128626.jpgContinents of anger

drifting in a soup bowl

of emotions

with no handle

and no one to pick up

this dangerous spicy brew

blow as you like

it’s not cooling or giving

nourishment to anyone

Old love

Old love doesn’t wear out

but bodies do

she struggles to breathe

through tubes

who bore my children

while nurses debate

who will wear

the rubber suit and gloves

to tend her needs

doctors consider

sending her home

how can this be

physically distant

but always connected

in the heart


I cannot prevent

a sound

when I touch the world

with my hands

the slightest contact

echoes through the universe

like a ripple

in an endless sea

I am that ripple

as I flow toward you

with my hands

The sharp teeth of life

If you look into the fierce eyes

and sharp teeth of life

with love respect

and an amused smile

you may receive only

a smack on the face

instead of squished like a bug

The full of night

The speed of sound

the loud of flight

the bone of skin

the wrong of right

the long of life

the fuel of fright

the waking brings the bird of wing

to rest upon the blue on white

the air of breath

the eye of bright

the sleep of dream

the full of night


Lover of god

If I claimed to be

a lover of god

and offered as proof

that I performed

certain correct practices

at regular intervals

in the privacy of my home

would you be convinced

would you be inspired