The music is back

I hear the drummer

Tiny men hold up the left

Tiny men hold up the right

And it’s back

I suppose we can call that

An actual smile

Now all other systems

Need to get on board

Soul production breakdown

Yet position – position

Not a care – no care

Yet position – position

What is your specialty

What track record prize

Where is the fruit

What justifies the hype

Not one disciple

Yet position – position

Not even friends

Yet position – position

What is your specialty

What track record prize

Where is the fruit

What justifies the hype

Coattail abuse

Yet position – position

Deafeningly idle

Yet position – position

What is your specialty

What track record prize

Where is the fruit

What justifies the hype

Waster of years

Yet position – position

Scrutinizing youth

Yet position – position

What is your specialty

What track record prize

Where is the fruit

What justifies the hype

Help me today

I don’t want to cheat

I don’t want to scheme

I don’t want to worry

I want to trust

That the same God who helped yesterday

Will help now

Help me today

Because those who could and should

Very often don’t

And in this case, didn’t

I want to trust

That the same God who helped yesterday

Will help now

Help me today

To forgive the jealous, insecure loud mouth

Who always kisses up premature support

Then caves quietly without pressure

I want to trust

That the same God who helped yesterday

Will help now

Help me today

Sort through surprise and shock

Through absurd logic

Through ignorant and empty assurances

I want to trust

That the same God who helped yesterday

Will help now

Help me today

To not stop making bold gestures

To not stop spoiling and caring for others

Simply because similar gestures won’t be returned

I want to trust

That the same God who helped yesterday

Will help now

Help me today

To ignore dull duds

Who only underwhelm and are wholly unexceptional

To finally learn where my refreshment comes from and where it will not

I want to trust

That the same God who helped yesterday

Will help now

There’s a real person

In and for and through

Now has a moment to speak

The preacher’s kid

Counsel to many

Experienced

Educated

Beat up

How will I capture you

You are one of a kind

I’m a fan and aware

I have to look at it that way

Not to mimic but find

This “this” voice

You gotta really try at these things

And plead with your inner self

To agree with God

Shush and shush

The image in the pond

And break out the claws

To climb and climb and climb

You gotta really try at these things

And cave to the glory saps

To agree with God

Hand over hand

Foot on shoulder on face

Fill the bucket of doubt

And throw it out throw it out

You gotta really try at these things

To know but not see at all

To agree with God

And be all about it

Paint a picture of your faith

Even if you don’t recognize it

Then just make it be

Waiting is the ultimate lead balloon

Can’t anything hasten anymore

Waiting is the tear stuck in the duct

It burns and reminds and teases

Waiting is the missing last line

In an almost poem, an almost song

Waiting is knowing and not knowing

All at the same time, all at once

Waiting is cruel yet safe

In the moment and for the moment

I don’t want to wait anymore

I don’t want to wait

I feel my joy coming back

Little by little

Like the cicadas, I hope

Promise promise promise

Then boom – swarms

To write again

And act

To plan

And drive the big group

To build experiences

To know where the bull’s eye is

That is glee

That second hand

Who keeps it spinning

Is he a cheetah or a sloth

A beam of light or a slug

When I was younger

He and I agreed

But now he’s out to get me

He’s not in a hurry at all

And so I wait and wait and wait

I’m angry with this guy

And he must know it

Or else he’s taking his break now

And has divorced himself

From caring at all about it

There can be yelling in the back space

In the back back hallway

Where the uncategorized is stacked

And if I were to guess

I would say that it is probably

Constant

It’s the trees of the forrest

They are making sounds

Loud screams and low moans

And some days it helps you through

And some days it breaks your soul

It emotes as a way

Of spilling over

Now and then

It is managing

And managing

You don’t have to know it

Open the chrysalis too soon

It’s just goo

And maybe that’s today

Maybe that’s now

Just a season of goo

From something

To something

A simply icky middle

Not without purpose

Formative

Necessary, of course

But a long long wait

And oh so much

Listening to the sound

Of your own breathing

And mostly just that

Pens that don’t write

Keyboards that don’t click

Yarns that don’t knit

Broken bulbs of hope

That used to light up

And will light up again