Open your eyes.

See the bioluminescence,

ascending rhythmically

up,

up

from the abyss,

or God’s firework show

descending hazily

down,

down

in dancing waves of light,

the Holy Grail of sky watching,

the aurora borealis,

the northern lights.

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.

A carcass with a pulse,

a miracle dipped in myrrh,

perfumed a Jewish beard

and consecrated a blameless soul…

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…

Sometimes monsters

of our own making

show up relentlessly

until we look introspectively

at the mess we’ve made

when we’ve felt incarcerated

without the possibility of parole

as both our own judge and jury.

Kindness is more than a word,

although all words have spark of light

because words bleed meaning,

infused with divine birthright

even out of the mouths

of mortals and neophytes.

Everyone wants to know

life’s greatest mystery.

It’s simple:

read your history

and exchange your brokenness for beauty,

your porcelain mask for the Japanese art

of Kintsugi.

“A diary,

documenting a life in hiding;

her pen,

an ally in the fighting,

inciting a literary rebellion

against Svengalis and Nazis—

cannibals,

tearing body and flesh

to pieces;

spitting out bones

like animals,

praying in the name of Jesus”

Just walkin into a room
requires all the courage
I can muster.
Exposed like a nerve.
Afraid to smile.
Do I let you in—
a place you don’t deserve
to make fun of my face
and call me “Herman Munster”?
Walkin up,
wearin Supreme,
holdin my skateboard,
takin jokes to the extreme,
trying to find my tribe,
my people group.
I’ll know when I’m home:
kind eyes find me
as collective lips pronounce,
“We-e-e a-a-are Groo-oot!”

“…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.”