What would be left of you for me if I no longer wanted you to be a something else?
I tried to be a saint once; it didn’t work. So now I carry a pocketful of zippers when I walk into town. I lay them on the sidewalk and pull on their sliders, separating the concrete to reveal the sweet mystery of light and sound that bounces between bamboo stalks when played upon by…
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This is the faith found folded inside the absence of all things, existing not for god or for man or the angels but for its own Existence. It’s what’s left when loss and confusion have stripped away the nail from where the universe hangs. Related Posts: Poetry Collection From and for God Order your copy…
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Let me touch my lips to your cheek, so I may swallow your tears. Then, maybe they will enter my bloodstream, and I can finally feel your preciousness with my entire body.
The gods and saintsnever stopped showering us with flowers. We have just forgottenhow to walk on this earthlightly as if every steppressed into a petalto release its sweet fragrance. Related Posts: Poetry Collection From and for God Pre-order your copy today Available March 20th
What I most want to do tonightis wrestle the sky, graba good-sized chunkand wring it like awet ragfor a single dropof light. Related Posts: Poetry Collection From and for God Pre-order your copy today Available March 20th
A log cannot jump out of the flame. So, what good can resistance do but grant a few extra moments of intense burning?
This time let me be open- no bait, no traps, no clever schemes, no hooks or ropes… The moon doesn’t try to lasso the sun, for she knows her ropes will burn. Instead she basks in the light. With open arms I will wait.