White-faced

face peeled, skin on asphalt,
defaulted in this holy of holies
rip the curtain,
cross the altar,
sacrifice the scarred,
keep Caesar out, You have no place here,
Heaven, iconically, confesses to keep going despite this
blizzard whipped, blinding snow.
the warm tropical water scrapes the scales
needling another pilgrim to confess.

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

The hands of the lesser

Would I let my kingdom fall into the hands of the lesser?
Would I allow my house to crumble?
I would watch as my dreams fall apart
And give way under the weight of selfish children not caring to kill.
Could I trust my child to the butchering animals and
I watch them dragged out and stoned on the stone streets?
Would I trust my jugular in the hands of 2nd yr. 2nd rate medical students
Stayed up late-partying-
Drooping scalpel in hand.
I love them all. I could I give my all up
To the mob to misuse and misguide.
I never could sacrifice my work and time for them
But You can?