Our Sins

Photography by Manuel Libres Librodo Jr.

We like miracles because they are now,

Not because they are from God.

We use God’s love because it serves us well,

Forgetting that without it, we would be dead.

We watch our loved ones sleep

And pray to God they do his will

And then grow afraid of his will.

There lacks congruence in what we Read More

Past

Mixed media drawing by Carne Griffiths

The exhaustion cuts, shards-of-broken-mirror style, contusions in the psyche realizing there have been twenty-eight jobs in fourteen years since I started my first at age fifteen. (To Joshua’s twenty-three since sixteen.) My mind experiences it most acutely, always trying so hard just to pay rent and maybe eat something, and of course the incessant criticism that chides, “And you’re glorifying God, how exactly?” Then the body manifests the fatigue, and at last the spirit gives in. And I’m not even counting the nights at Ralph’s in Costa Mesa where he would take glamour shots for eighty bucks, or making aspen bar stools and scattering the wood shavings in the forest, or dealing Texas Hold’em Read More

Gilt Indigo Lips

Painting by Jarek “Khaal” Kubicki

What happens when you see no end
To the blues and faraway song, your only friend
And there’s no sheep in your flock to tend
And you try to play but it hurts to pretend
Ain’t nothin fallin down to amend
Cuz you’ve made yourself able to bend
All the way to the ground
Because it’s all turned all around
You think down is up and up, a playground
Where lost children go to be found
By open arms and lips that make not a sound
But the kisses that say, ‘how bout another round?’ Read More

Uncarving Lines

spilled-food-art-giulia-bernardelli-36

Art by Giulia Bernardelli

Reading Crime and Punishment in the dark and wet rural Chinese winter and Joshua got sick with a fever on the border town.  Wanting to kill the nihilist prick, “Rodya,” I explored the streets alone and brought back a paper bowl of noodles.  The inherent problem with writing is that it delineates thought and action.  Can we write and free ourselves from further categorization, further erring by playing tricks that depend on the duality illusion? Read More

Deep I (Meditation on the Psalms: II)

In the womb I talk with my hands

And every sign is another stanza

Of the poem, of our home

We all delight in as a dance

Meditating on it day and night

Communing with our hearts’ lamplight

Surrendered will, lying still

We become the heavenly right

For man has shamed oft before

The blessed counsel of the poor

Because the Lord is their reward

And place of refuge forevermore Read More