5/13/22

Category: Beauty, JESUS, Poetry

No need to second guess.   Doubting is not having faith. But who needs faith when you’re face to face?   Ushered straight to an inheritance of grace, we have all eternity to count to infinity by the melody of what’s inside His chest as He pulls us near to lay our head against His…

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5/5/22

The sin particle,

an element

before the elements

of the Periodic Table.

An irritation

to the core

that makes it unstable

like uranium or plutonium,

an existential explosion

with the biblical force

of 100 Noachian floods

unlike the God particle

of infinite glory

that pre-existed the lies

that traumatize

the innocent child

at the beginning

of every story.

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4/29/22

If words are a bubbling brook

above the geyser of our hearts,

they’re poised

to say something about

the nature of our spirituality—

a disjointed but shared reality—

seeking comfort

in the womb of bad religion.

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4/22/22

A carcass with a pulse,

a miracle dipped in myrrh,

perfumed a Jewish beard

and consecrated a blameless soul…

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4/15/22

I want to know more

about this Maundy Thursday Prince,

ever since I’ve read what eyewitnesses say,

“He massages people’s feet

as He washes away the dirt

and the stench of the street.

He walks with those who suffer

and suffers when those who suffer

go astray.”

This is the Rabbi

who inspires closet skeptics

to “come-out” and pray.

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4/1/22

This world is so unfriendly and unkind.   How’s a teenager with Zeus’s ADHD, the rage of Achilles and the passion of Paris supposed to survive the suburban hostility of drive-by bullets of bullying and cliques of cruelty with privileged popularity without losing his mind?   If you want to get to know me then…

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2/16/22

“…distinguishing our friends on TikTok

from the system failure of the Matrix,

fictional agents who trip on the trip-wire

of a progressive déjà vu,

sounding the alarm for Pokémon

like Pikachu,

whose evolution to Raichu

seals the demise

of politicians and preachers

who wear a postmodern disguise.”

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1/22/22

The neon sign

to the promised land

has faded.

To the working-class

happy endings

are overrated. 

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1/3/22

how quickly we forget,

laying down palm branches

to casting stones a week later,

breaking stained glass windows

to our mansions,

crucifying our Creator.

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12/21/21

The Ragman stopped his cart. Quietly, he walked to the woman, stepping round tin cans, dead toys, and Pampers.

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