PRODIGAL RUNNING

Just as the acolytes 

     lead the minister in 

          you betray your pew and

push back the choir milling

     in their robes,  they nod, piously, 

          laying their blessings on you.

Outside a sea of shepherds,

    penitents in rags, drunkards

         and google-eyed idiots

with their praying hands, 

     god's messengers reaching

          to baptise you in the 

divine cosmos.  You dash 

     through mustard fields, 

          Judas stumbling in ditches 

and fall under the grace 

     of cedars in the potters

          field and waken in the deep 

dew weeds, the firmament 

     staring down from god's eye,

          an eclipse, the heavens 

bathing you in the sweat 

     of the Lord's kiss and last 

          benediction, the radiance

of disorder.  "This 

     is what Lewis Carroll 

          meant!" you stammer 

to the night and all its 

     holiness.  "This is the 

          rare light, the revelation!,   

the illuminata!"  And now

     it's your burden to pass.

PRODIGAL VOYAGE

You've been spit out, washed ashore here, 

like Gulliver in the land of Lilliputians

except there are no Lilliputians here,

only the wreck of someone's life, plastic

deck chairs, heaps of rags rescued from 

the gulf, sodden books and papers.  

All you know is a cartoon -- waking 

bloated and coughing on the beach,

waves and foam washing over you.  

You spend the morning gathering 

palm fronds and coconuts, arranging 

them in giant letters, but instead of 

forming words to be deciphered 

by rescue planes you spell existential 

questions driven mad by horse flies 

and gooney birds.  The fish here suck, 

rotting silver scalawags, and 

the seaweed tastes like seaweed, 

there's no mangoes or pomegranates here,

brother. You're stuck here, lost in 

the horse latitudes.  You started this

by looking for maps corked in 

tequila bottles, but you traveled 

beyond terra incognita and 

wouldn't recognize home now if 

you arrived by raft.  No, there's no

turning back! No Eureka! No 

at last I am found!  No long-lost 

friends embracing you!  All is forgiven!  

You learn to like it here in the 

detritus, you learn to like it

as it is, to take what you're given, 

or lump it, and lumping is what 

you're doing

SIX WORD DITTIES WRITTEN ON MOTHER'S DAY

Speech delivered words 

no one heard

I died and 

went to 

Kalamazoo

Plaintive birdsong

evokes feeling

long denied

Searching for 

what cannot be 

denied

O I wish 

that wasn't so!

Regret for the symphony not played

The soul stranded 

on Highway 31 

Lost book--the one 

that mattered

It was pop song love, dear

A necklace of candy!  

Sweet revenge 

Facebook wall & cafeteria ghoulash!  Splendid!

Untitled Narrative

She cut herself and 

we all noticed

The rivers of blood 

terrified us

There was no 

flood, only damage

Alone 

at night 

we wondered, 

"Why?"

There were no

answers, only questions.

Doubt

lurking in 

corridors, lacking courage

Could it 

spread?  We 

were blind.

Later 

we all cut 

in private

Rivulets of 

life, fear 

trickling through

Skin was 

a numb threshold, 

see?

All rivers 

don't seek the sea

It's dread, really, 

that joins us

Alone, but 

in unison, seeking 

what?

Later

we realized, shit, this 

hurts