Monday, February 27, 2017


My idols are eyelids (mine)
I can turn the world pink
when it's too black and white for me to look at:

and I don't have to ask why this is such a big deal
for you. You're grieving over nothing.
It's not even real.
I don't have to see it.

Wednesday, February 1, 2017


"Blessed are you when others revile you & persecute you & utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven--for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you."

We have Christ's mind. Shut it up in a box.
Made a test for the rest.
Is their doctrine pure?

Do we even understand what it means any more--
or what do we think the traditions are for?

We preached the whole counsel
but we slid over James
an epistle of straw
watch him go up in flames--

We didn't want to listen.
We didn't like weeping.
So we hugged our own selves
and called ourselves suffering

kissed our own boo boos
Sat still in our pews
and lived quiet lives

Unbearable Love,
the world hated you.
It casts stones at us too.

Are the stones true?


God draws straight lines with crooked sticks:
it doesn't get much more twisted than this,
halt leg limping, sin dragging my ankles,
trying to keep my eyes on my Righteousness--

Old sin casts long shadows. It's dark in this heart.
There are times I feel blind, stumbling in darkness
tripping over old loves I thought I'd left behind,
stealing kisses. Oh, you children of light!

Walking through the valley of the shadow of hesitation--
can't feel Your Spirit with me when I hear that temptation:
A little sleep, a little slumber, fold my hands up to rest: 
You can stop and rest a while here, in Unworthiness.
It's a quiet town, everyone keeps to himself.

There's a house to lie down in. Pull my knees up. Say
I'm an unworthy servant. I'd better stay
by the roadside, silent, and not harm the witness.
A little time to lie down, let my weak knees rest.

Boards over the windows. Count the specks in my eyes.
Lie down in the darkness to listen to lies.
Lullaby, sleep now, close your eyes
on goodness and glory-- they burn like poison--

There's a crack around the frame though,
a crack around the door
it lights up my eyelids in crimson and gold.
If I wait till You straighten me out all the way
I will stick here mud musing till the last day.

Halfhearted, make me faithful--stick my feet to this way--
So the old man's got my ankles. I was made for daylight.
Don't let me turn backward, or twist to the side.
You can use a bent stick, Lord, to make a straight line.

You broke up stone with a stick and frustration
and gave sweet water to a desperate nation.
You hung, Atonement, on a tree and some nails
Your promise: sin and death shall not prevail.
You are making me holy. I must walk down this track

and love your Church, imperfect:
I cannot hold back.