When the strings and co come to town

No wonder the 19th century poets were ope’ addicts.
No television,
And it took an orchestra from Vienna to reach earthly heaven
Death knolls were entertainment,
kinda grabs you by the neck, no?
but no-bells (Prizes) for imagination
Can’t wait for my dream sequel,
if death were dreaming, there’d be no Hell
“Oh, I’ll fly away, dear Jesus,”
when the strings and co. come to town
swooping in and out of appreciation
between epiphany
and wonder transcending

Like the Guy that never got married

Running toward darkness
looking for someone who doesn’t have to smile,
searching for a mirror
so not to change myself–
too lazy to make time for devotions or
do I really want a wife that won’t be praying for me?

do I martyr myself with delusions of sacrifice:
breaking covenants and burning the cow
I’ve been given quite a few after all
to write poems about

if dreams are standards, this is a nightmare
can two reserved persons fall in love
and still love the world
like the Guy that never got married

An unlit firecracker decomposing in an underwear drawer

fire spells relief
shimmering in the night sky–
if I’d just eat or kiss or maybe even belong
I
‘d be happy.
running from entertainment every Friday,
opportunities to bless, to leave Jesus behind
treading where I’ve tread before,
yes, circular—but not waiting for you to depress
I
t r a n s v e r s e a translucent chord:
the roommate invites to talk with the room-less in smoky bars,
the friend invites to watch the movie about camaraderie,
alone, hugging myself with artistry
desperate to produce
a great life
I
write.

Am I Jesus?

says she is no good friend,
another will not cease saying that I am:
interlinked in stomach knots taxed
by the sieve of time straining, I collapse after each one
shares–pain divides: a miraculous healing.