I don’t trust the stroke of a pen

Not like I used to trust the stroke of a pen

It doesn’t do for me now what it did for me then

I don’t trust the stroke of a pen

 

I don’t flinch at the filthy words

Just like I’ve never flinched at the filthy words

I can’t say it’s the worst thing I ever heard

I don’t flinch at the filthy words

 

I don’t crawl past that way no more

Not like I used to crawl past that way before

I’ve seen smoke sweep underneath the door

So I don’t crawl past that way no more

If there are other people

Who are as lonely

As I am

Then I totally get

Why they do

What they do

Why they sing

What they sing

Why they stop

Why they start

Cause silence is a loud hum

And the time drags

And nothing is needed

To numb

Because numb 

Is your entire closet

Numb is the furniture

And the streets

And the cars

And all the houses

And disdain

Is the name tag

Everyone fills out

And slaps on your chest

Before grabbing

An antibacterial wipe

And

No one ever says

Where’s what’s his name

Ever

So

I totally get it

Pen is a friend

Doesn’t mind

When I don’t call

He and I

Are equally involved

I suppose

It’s quite like

A romance

Just took a bit

For me

To make him mine

And don’t be bitter

I beg a pal

That I didn’t

Carve your name

Visibly enough

For connect-the-dots

I suppose

It was the devil

Who we now

Cast out of his chair

So we can consequently

Tie the knot

In the town square

No reason

For a failure

To surrender

Yet one season

And one more

And one more

And one more

Circles around the sun

While powder in the blue skies

Announce victory days

Sing freedom songs

Over me

 

No reason

For a failure

To surrender

Yet a wall

And another

And another

And another

Constructed by a hand

That crucifies me

And with the dew

From time to time

A breath can blow it all away

Then on the grey

Which is steady steady

And mysterious

There is glue

No reason

It is not that you

Are simply

The God

Of the moment

For you are

The God

Of my time

All time

You are

The God

Of my heart

Mount hope

And I’ll breathe

Easy and Refreshed

Whether lassoed or tethered

Whether surrendered or caught

Running to or fleeing from

Adoring freely or tapped on the shoulder

These days

It seems as if

My attention is like

100 yo-yos

Flailing about

And even I

Can’t always locate

The thread of allegiance

From one breath to the next

And so I must

Call upon

The deep deep knowing

Of faith

Of grace

For when I feel held

I know that I am held

But when I do not feel held

I must know that I am

And so today

I know

In the deep

Secure strength

Of faith

That I am

A son

Held

I am

A son

 

Imbibe lessons like jack

Slurp the insights of saints

Raise a glass to the tune

Of the hallowed halls

And dance like a drunkard

To pomp and circumstance

For you have turned it around

From a sticky-fingered clerk

And a midnight lurker

To a third degree savant

Oh what an august climb

Now more than grit

I will not stop in Hyderabad

If I did not stop in Kingston

As in San Juan and Fresno

As in Cali and Guatemala City

Because I ramble

Outside the lines

Ive got that ache

I gotta see

Just one alley more

And peal the bark

From the painted trees

And get the two kisses

From more wannabe moms

I know I was born

To smell the bread

And taste the fruit

For what does not appeal to many

Or even makes them ill

Enlivens me

I will not stop

 

There’s a tickle

In the low belly

A bayou blend

Of voodoo

And sacred hymns

Not to the day

Falling to the knees

By the bed

In a prayer

For a 3-minute repreve

Loving light

Holy lens

More than this

Which hints of death

More than ever

The gust and blow

Can put out

A primal hope

You ski past

The slope

Love made of muck and leaves

Trampled down the stairs

By thousands of tourists

Here but not home

All creepy and needy

Grasping and gasping

At a sense of anything

That might have the faint scent

Of anti-solitude or wine

A ribbon will do

A quick two or three

In a pinch

Will salt the rice

On the stove

It’s a hunger

We all know

And hate

And know

And hate

It’s a robe

We all know

And hate

And know

 

Why did you

Usher in the season

Of the flatline?

You’re not Saul

Youre not Paul

Why did you strangle

So much brown

From the joy-turbine?

You’re not Saul

You’re not Paul

Why gift wrap

A smirk

Or burp

A thin grin

You’re not Saul

You’re not Paul

So

Saul then, right?