Struggling Against One Kind or Another

We forgot what our god is for.
But I can tell you who remembers because I remember.
This is a most important lesson I’m about to teach you:


When life happens to you. What happens to you and how you handle it. When you fail. When things fail that you don’t want. There’s a whole world of things. And I mean you. And you don’t want. That’s not a pleasant. And I don’t think anybody has been doing it right. When you’re too quick to jump to words and to give up on what god had planned before the words, when there was a lot more to your problems than words.

We’re talking about our biggest, darkest demons here. Our fears. Our fears and their fears are so big right now yet they’re not at all. Our worst fears and their fears are the things that…look, we’re afraid of our. We’re afraid to take in. We’re afraid to put a face to the fear and to admit that there is fear lurking underneath the blankets. We’re afraid to let it out. And when we don’t. When we’re afraid to do. When we don’t face our heart. When we’re afraid to say. When we’re afraid of what. When we’re afraid to truth. When we don’t at all.

And everything has been caught. Fallen into it.

So I’ve been fighting. Fighting for you, for future, for faith. You’ve had your challenges from, right? It’s been there. You’ve had your demons and dark things inside. And I’ve had my own demons and dark things inside. And you’re hearing how to keep that inside as much as you’re hearing how not to do it.

We could be living in the kingdom of the gods, if we all prayed together forever. But we don’t. We can’t. In fact, we’re so scared of the wrong things and we’re in the kingdom of the demons. The demons have got us by the throat and they’ve got you by the throat. They’ve got you right. We’re in a kingdom. We’re in a kingdom of dark, dark joy.

Struggling Against One Kind or Another

The Emptiness of Space

She is the storyteller
And she is the truth
She is the heart
And she is the backbone
She is the web’s shadow
And the grass-hymn wind

She is the truth
And she is the grass
She is the webbed tree

When I think
of how I am feeling right now,
I’m filled with sadness and fear

Now, don’t listen to my woes
if you believe in God,

Don’t believe in your sins
if you believe in God,

Don’t believe in anything
if you believe in a Lord

There’s something to be said
for a little Godliness
in all things that people do,
and that they do not do
by their own choice

Where I come from
we have lots of enemies

Where I come from,
there’s only one God

She is the truth
And she is the grass
And she is the web
And she is the shadow
And she is the story

The Emptiness of Space

Our Firearms

Our Firearms, Who send many to heaven,
Hallowed be Thy Names;
Our hands be wrung,
The N.R.A.’s will be done
in America as it is in Congress.
Give us this day our daily dead,
and send thoughts and prayers,
as we fill with holes those who trespass against us,
and lead us not into solutions,
but deliver us from stray bullets.

See also:

Our Firearms

Sunrise and the Green New Deal

Human-caused climate change is an existential threat to life on Earth.

If you live in the U.S., check out

And find a town hall to discuss the Green New Deal occurring near you (or sign up to host one).

If you’re in KC, here are the details:

Kansas City Green New Deal Town Hall
Start: April 24, 2019 at 6:30 PM 
Unity Temple on the Plaza
707 W 47th St
Kansas City, MO, 6411

When thinking about human-caused climate change, recall Preu’s Wager.

Sunrise and the Green New Deal

To That Which We Are Entrusted

And who was Joshua anyway but a common man come to tell the common man how to get by in a world like this?

This here world built on rich men’s dreams in rich men’s eyes for rich men’s bodies.

You see, a rich man ain’t got to love nothing. Only thing he’s got to do is open his purse and say the word.

Hell, sometimes it’s better if he don’t say any words a’tall, just hush it up all quiet-like so there ain’t no trail, ain’t no truth to the matter.

But a poor man’s got to love everything to get by in a world like this, a world he’s set to inherit.

Got to love that what itint fair.
Got to love that what puts him down.
Got to love that what hates him just for watching the same goddamn blue sky.
Got to love that what hates.

Got to love
that what hates.

Got to love murder by the ruling class, stuck through with a handful of rusty nails, up on some old dirty wood, bleeding out over all creation just so the other poor folk’ll keep in mind: all your days you got to love that what hates you ‘til this here world sets you free at last, free at last.

To That Which We Are Entrusted

Huron Cemetery Poems VIII

May 15th, 2018


Bits of broken tombstone surround the tree of life, jagged little reminders that all monuments someday crack and crumble.

A speck-like spider falls from the tree of life onto my pale hand. Before it has a chance to find its own way home, I send it to the land of wet grasses on a gust of self-generated wind. I have never cared for spiders, however minuscule.

I count no less than twenty shards of gravestone and wonder if the tree of life is to blame. The tree of life, grown so large from all the now-quiet bodies if hovers over while under the bone-infested ground, the roots of life seek water.

I spy no faces upon the tree of life’s cracked and ornery skin. I only spy black ants and sick-yellow lichens.

Are the faces then underground with the roots or perhaps higher up on the trunk, well above eye-level, spied only by wandering drones or a telescoping eye from a nearby window? Are the faces then in the branches, obscured by oblique leaves?

Perhaps the tree of life has no faces at all…

Perhaps the tree of life is just a dis-envisaged voice repeating so slowly, “So happy now you’ve gone.”

And what then for us still left to hear?

What new lessons do we have to share?

Huron Cemetery Poems VIII

The Good Life Smells Just Like Gobstoppers

On the ground before you
sits a box sealed tight.
The box represents your mind.

Don’t get the wrong idea
about this metaphor. This is
not about thinking outside the box.

At least, not in the common
sense of that beleaguered phrase.
Instead, simply watch the box.

That action proves noteworthy for
you can watch the box from outside the box,
which forces you to ask,

“Who is it that’s watching my mind?”

My daughter enters the room
bearing candy and a smile.

The last time I wrote of her
she was seven. Now she’s ten.

The multi-colored candy spills
from its box like rainbow hailstones.

She reads the words above
and she tells me not to worry.

Then she leaves the room
to go play The Sims downstairs.

The Good Life Smells Just Like Gobstoppers