The graffitied veins of the cosmos bleed a ruptured interplay of so much noiseless static in God’s ears drumming to shape wonder. (Artwork by Jackson Pollock) Advertisements
Long before there was Adam’s itchy rib and Eve’s ruptured spleen there was a travesty of hands a transversal flowerbed of fngers reaching in jilted unsion to grasp not the meaning of God but rather the infinitely sweeping hem of … Continue reading
There is the cracking– thin, brittle chafings of bones begging to splinter, to silver holy music through darkened hollows, and there is us, Love’s loneliest brood, spelled out like vagrant relics, like glistening runes, upon God’s most silent scattered linen.
Thank you, is the simplest and most profound prayer I know, borne along on a sea of breath, it returns to itself, the divinest echo from God’s muse to my lips.
If I could grow my arms the length of God I’d hug the entire world until a cosmic vessel went bust and bled light to no end.
My desire to feel God is the same as the child’s dreamlipped desire to kiss the red kite bobbing and arcing far and away tethered to his wrist a wordless prayer given over to wind and sky.
Remember me to the ease of light, its pause and passage, we are not long for this earth, which swallows us, and our lovetagged bones, as a matter of natural course and radical recomposition, all the gifts, and hopes unwound … Continue reading
You are here, she said, to take a tentative chance on the infinite, to teethe, lovingly, on the numinous zipper of a star or two, to gamble away innocence with a fortune teller’s palm, grinning stigmata, and not a single … Continue reading
I’d like to be the kind of person my soul knows I am.
Her talk of bruised skin, and how it caught fire on the far side of trespass, fascinated me to no end. She wanted to burn clean through, didn’t want to hear any more talk about cooler heads prevailing, or stubborn … Continue reading
