Schrodinger’s spiritual mind both alive and dead.A swelling desire to dwell on the eternal.The carnal inspiration of the darker thoughts.loneliness and anger war against the lovely and pure.Staring into a sunrise over mountains while counting my sins and offenses. A swelling din of joy growing at the sight, the sound of the beloved.Into the fog of melancholy nihilism, fatalistic grind, the rut.Rise above I tell myself, breath in the fog its good for the lungs.See

I am like this abandoned school I drive by everyday.I echo faintly with the nostalgia of youth.I have a playground but no but me uses it. I oil the merry go round.I test the seesaw.I bat at the deflated tether-ball. I stand vacant surrounded by busy lives.Equal parts Charlie Brown and Calvin and Hobbes.Yet old, not useless just old without being old. At least part of me fits this description.A part that was full of

There is a God, evidencedBy the fact, my son livesHe survived tidal wave of my own wrathBeating me down slowlyMy own patience erodingPersistent waves of adolescence Assailing my own foundation Crash crash crash crash crashThe loud din of a man lostMy own voice crushes you Shame Im sorry I lost my temperIm not sorry for being angry Daddy fallsMay we both have ears to listen

People take pictures of everything.Pictures of food, pictures of each otherlandscape, pets, kids, friends, everything.This is good. I stopped taking pictures of everything and started to write poetry. Capture the feeling of loving my child, or my wife, being late to work, or the breeze as it passes through the pines. Even if no one reads it this will still be with me.

Scrub away your identityScrub away your pain No matter what you do you can’t get rid of the Imago Dei Go ahead and yell at himGo tell God he’s wrong Just remember what he says about you while you rage within the throng.

A toddler’s demanding cry.A teen’s frustrating whine.A child’s roll of the eye.A coworker’s biting reply.A spouse’s sharp decry. My heart is hard.My eyes are blind.Under all human action,A desperate link.Be it hurt, truth, madness or sin,True evil, virtue or a deafening inner dinThe man with empathy, wisdom and love combined,There in his heart grows the peacemaker’s vine A toddler’s demanding cry.The confusion of youth and dependence imbibe. A teen’s frustrating whine.The scaffolding is set build

All these people, bodies, soulsLungs filled with gifts, every particleOne man speaksArms and microphone a man who is focal Abide in me The branch drinks the sap Pens scratch paper tiny screens scrollWe are intertwined by the KingAre we superficial?I am a well dressed bag man Keep my command.The fruit swells is it sweet? It is so polished all of it even meI hate the polish I want to seeI want to see past to

Still, in the morning, I wake. The earth still moves. The vibrations of ambient heat.It is warm in the blanket.I am still,still with my wife,still in the dark of the room.Yet nothing is still, our particles vibrate,our minds move with amnesiac dreams.The spirit moves.I am quite, I know God.

Avenattie was a hottieWho sold women’s words to CNNIn hopes that his virtue signaling would lead to his pockets and gold within. Avenattie was a hottie Who spat fire and truth to power And thought that the presidential seat was just beyond the golden shower. Avenattie was a hottie Who upheld women’s rights Till he was accused by them of striking out of spite. Avenattie was a hottie A lawyer, yet due process he need

By Rudyard Kipling AS I PASS through my incarnations in every age and race,I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market Place.Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all. We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turnThat Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:But we found them lacking in