Rattling Backslider 

The bones know
they are naked

when the soul falls

down from them like 

a heavy quilt.
They know 

panic should set in

when the heart takes its

bow and whispers 

goodnight.
The bones know 

they are useless

when muscle and sinew

require nothing more 

of movement.
They know 

the marrow is gone

when they hear 

the rattlings caused by wind

against their frame.
The bones know 

when death is coming to

sing through their hollow

like funeral pipes. 
And my bones know

that they were created

from dust.


 

My Primal Veins

There is some primal thing

in winter’s air that 

begs me to search alone

for my own survival.

Challenges me to

become an animal

In the search for

warmth, food, shelter of pines.

It is primal that I need.

The alluring summon of freedom.

An instinct comes

to live inside of me

like a lion’s hunt.

I am wild.

I am free.

I am not polished

Or dressed in silk.

I wear no rosy lips

or painted eyes.

I do not answer to the death

call of society.

I let it all go

to feel the cedar branches

break in my hands.

To light a fire

and hear cedar crackle as

my own song.

The gray sky reaches

around me like love from

everyone that I’ve ever known

as I become

the wild thing that lives

In my veins.

I am hunter.

I am prey.

I am.

Thief of Winter Lights

The lights turn off one by one on

a cold winter night.

The light keeper has to sleep

Sometime and he must

finish what was started. 

I see the lights go out

In the eyes of friends

In the eyes of dreamers

In the eyes of the faithful.

The keeper of light comes

To my door, he comes through

The snow and the wind.

He asks me if he can come

Finish his job for the night.

I am too tired to turn him away.

After he is gone

I lay down in the dark.

Waiting for his return.

Waiting for light.

But I see him

Headed home with the lights 

Swinging like laughing children

In his gnarled hands.
I know he won’t come back

to my door.

My lights were very very bright.

He will keep them as his own.

And I will adjust to darkness.

Imaginary conversation at the Ocean. 

I’ve read that wisdom is older than the sea.
That she stood and played in the newly formed waves. She dove and swam and soaked in Life. She felt the salty water sting her eyes.
She looked at God through her blurred vision and tears rolled down her face.
“God”, she said. “It isn’t the Saltwater causing my grief.”
“What then?”, she heard His reply.
Said Wisdom, ” I know that this ocean will fall away someday. How can you create such a majestic thing when You can see its ruin?”
“Don’t you see Wisdom? Because it is worth creating.”
Wisdom heard love in

God’s voice but saw the sadness in His eye.
She rested her head on God’s heart and whispered , ” I won’t leave you God. I’ll stay with you for eternity. “
God thought about that as He looked into the future and saw Wisdom struggling to guide man.
“What is it God? What do you see? Will I fall away too?”
God smiled and tugged His white beard. “No old girl. You will have a tough job ahead… but they are worth creating and dying for.”
“Worth dying for?!”  Wisdom was disturbed. She didn’t understand the decision God was making. Speechless, she turned to Love for the answer.

The Host 

There is something in our world that creeps along the edges of the road

It finds its way across the street

Into the open doors of schools,

shops, homes.

It climbs like Ivy up the walls

Of churches, hospitals, funeral parlors.

Without warning it claims you.

You feel it in your gut

It possesses your throat

It forms around your mouth.

Then you hear it escape.

You have been a host for laughter

and you just cannot stop smiling.

Hell Unchained

Hell is that dull ache need for something that will never come.
It lives there in the pit of a

hungry stomach and burns

through the beating heart

of dying desire.
Hell rips you apart at all of your strongest seams and sows you back together inside out.
Hell is not a place of fire.

It is a monster running

unchained through the soul.