The Flesh

Oh dirty dirty word
You got in da dirt
Mud us mud lust air balloon
Life up oh my words
Become something me
Word teacher
Indweller in the holy community
We ain't much to look at
Holy?  Please.
Dirty pharisees
Dirty pharisees like me
Bonhoeffer says the word can't exist without
the Ink, the body us
Flesh for blood, spoken word
Rambling poetry of God
With all its rhythmic patterns and oddities
Incarnate in his iambs the lamb of lambs
Heart metronomics beating
With earth pulse
Spirit blood what a dirty word
What profanity
Cracked lips speaking
me.

Aircraft Carrier

Это все.
I would drop these heavy bags
Right now
If I knew I would die
Tomorrow.
The things we carry,
A bloody disease, a balloon of hot air,
Why do I assume I will keep on living?
Sea gull insanity prometheus fooling the deities.
The things we carry,
Wheelbarrows, bureaus full,
All the ticking-time-bomb gold watches,
Collected earthly possessions heaped
To be looted by thugs in spectacles and uniforms
Melted down or burning,
The things we carry
Anger, honor, shame
All the dropped calls,
Parent's blame,
What ifs and whys
We're all in line for a cold shower,
Ash and soap.
I should've called you sooner,
I should've knocked on your door
I could've said something differently,
Could've lost it all.
Why do I keep on
living? Could I be different?
How could I keep living,
While I split the plunder and pull the
Trigger, or worse, sit silent, sip death's tea
How could I be differnt from
The mayfly
Today live tomorrow die
No time for bucket lists' last good-byes
Just the blink blink drip drip blatt blatt of
The eye
Everything like leaves must die, light a candle,
Shadow I blearing away on a teardrop life
Flood playing for
An ark, a love, for air, for blood.
When I kissed you, I didn't think
I was the only one
Eye shutter to think, brain reeling
This passing photography my my memory
We'll be erased
At best might translate
Like some dull thud into afterburner,
An angel tongue.

LA Afternoon La Brea

LA, last of the day light
Panhandling, playing to get into the museum:
Art for art's sake.
The Russian mother is counting somersaults
Один, два, три, четыре
The evening sun slants towards me illuminating
Leaves laughter with light gleams

Couples kissing, why not me?
Rest a bit, sonny, please
Fossils, worries of life, tar pit sucking.

Today is a day alone,
but beautiful.
I kick myself over trivial things.
Soul sing, the day is lovely,
I don't care if you're
Dehydrated you had tacos today
From a place that has New York Subs and Kimchee
American glories.

A perfect breeze, a малчик laughing
Let it be, let it be
Space and Japanese photography.
Oh the kindnesses of strangers,
I got to sing,
And although I climbed a hill in hopes of seeing
The Hollywood sign for Squeaky,
What foolishness,
There is grass beneath me with far more beauty,
Far more worth committing to memory.

So let Мама chase the giggling,
Let the girl on the bench read,
Leave the lovers to their kissing
Might be a little smoggy, but sky's still blue,
Breathe a little, buddy.

Lord, Forgive

My arrogance, in which I am slow to seek you
My lust, in which I desire all else but you
My fear, in which I shrink from you and your call
My worry, in which I strive and flail
My selfishness, in which I consider myself better than others
My pride, in which I ignore my need and my community
My greed, in which I don't find you or anything else enough
My thoughtlessness, in which I am quick to hurt and offend
My frustration, in which I complain and stress
over trivial things
My apathy, in which I choose not to feel for fear that compassion or
caring will overwhelm me.

In all these things Lord,
I have shown myself foolish, calloused, and
downright rebellious.

You are certainly enough
My life, my breath, and my true love.

Poeting

I want to taste that sun-blobbed ink on my tongue again,
Swallow it down like a toasted starburst,
A explosion of coloured sound from the mouth
That iron taste of blood at the lip,
I want to get in the ring,
Corona, rays soaking skin
Warming the moist soil within
And as the smoke begins to curl,
The ignition begins to turn,
The words come, bring it on,
I've gnawed Dillard's universal jagged leaves
For what seems like eternity,
I've gotten busy living,
But it's time to listen and speak
Raise the sails and see where the breath leads,
It's time, taste
The metal to the mouth,
The cracks and bends of the bone shop,
Knitting syllables into threads into sunlight into
the work lines in my palms poetry.

Barbie Weather Lady

The weather lady looks like barbie
It's pretty disturbing
Teeth human as quartz,
A face as plastic as polystyrene
She looks good in Business Casual
Plays the knowledgeable airhead,
And tells you if the sun will burn your head.

Maybe the weatherman's always wrong
Cuz he's too busy with the look that he's got going on.

My friend Anzielika (song)

My friend Anzielika
Is wiser than most
She sits behind me piggyback
And sings us birthday songs
Because after all, she was born 12 years ago
And now the celebration
Is something we all share
So she names us off--as she goes

Happy birthday to James
Happy birthday to Kate
Happy birthday to Steve
Happy birthday to Diana
Happy birthday to Skaiste
Happy birthday Miškas
And in case you're wondering
Miškas is the cat

My friend Anzielika
Is smarter than most
She uses words when she needs to
But often just lets them go
Because a smile, a laugh, an exaggerated HMPH!
Is more than enough to communicate
Important things like love

And she goes a mile a minute
From one thing to the next
She's got a zest for life--that could
Hardly be matched
She's fun and crazy, stern and smart
But best of all
She's my friend

My friend Anzielika
Is wiser than most
She let us know what she thought
Were the presents she had got
And she said

James, my present
Kate, my present
Steve, my present
Diana, my present
Skaiste, my present
Miškas, my present
And in case you're wondering
Miškas is the cat

I can spend a lot of time thinking
On what I haven't got
But time and presence are in fact
The greatest gifts of all