Tag Archives: God
Nightwalk in a small town. Moonbleached adobe set against the snowglobular shakedown of flakes, as if dandruff from the itchy shaved scalp of God was falling, a phosphate rhapsody. Along the road, mudskinned snowdrifts, like albino coal-miners, crouching, or dispossessed … Continue reading
I do not want to see the face of God. I want to see her mask, where and for whom it cracked, the causal history of lines and fissures; want to trace, with blind mute innocence, the light quartered and … Continue reading
Within the plum-dark consciousness of God’s mysterious mind, Stars tells stories of unsung psalms seeded piercingly bright.
Drum over me God, I am water under the bridge, threaded with silk and sewn with bones flowing, undammed, into the percussive folds of a liquid body, my name and past ceded to babbles of foam upon a colossal, quivering … Continue reading
To walk in fields of blue lightning, to see with a child’s snow-driven eyes, is to receive awe and grace; the tasseled forks of God’s split tongues and blonde fuzzies coercing you to savor.
By exacting standards, I have held myself aloft, bated, the invocation to surrender, in bald tatters, now tags me to move, in rapport with grace, into suppler imaginings.
I have seen the stars travel in caravans at night, cursive gypsies aloft in God’s darkened mouth, the moon, a minted coin, or silver eyelet, peerless in its glint of visions and voice.
The small, dark, wet comma clefting our words, is the bated riddle of love on God’s silver tongue.
Star-rise, to the belt of dawn, we have been sworn in by Love’s chastened edge
Air chastens itself when given room to circulate, its holy charge the generous breath of God respiring toward Grace’s fused ends.