Monthly Archives: July 2017

Hung The Moon

Happy pop song plays, as she sits on her bed, painting her nails.

She sings along quietly, thing of her love, thinking of summer coming.

My heart aches, with love and loss, as she goes out into the world.

Aches at the girl she once was, and the woman she is becoming.

I’ve been along for the ride, goofy uncle, solemn friend,

always there to make her smile, always there to offer a hand to hold.

The world goes on, it’s her oyster now, and I fall behind.

She is young and brave, and I find that I am getting old.

She sees me, waves and smiles, and I ask her when he’ll be here.

A light in her eyes, a ray of sunshine in her smile, “Very soon.”

I go downstairs, hoping he is the angel she believes, that all will be well.

I hope I’ll always be needed, that I’ll always be the one who hung the moon.


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She Will Take Him To The Stars

She is young and beautiful, with child, LA sun.
The night is coming, dusky, starlight glow.
She is happy, at peace, they will be a family.
What’s coming for her, she doesn’t know.
She tells her child, she will take him to the stars.
That they are glittering angels up in the August air.
He kicks when she tells him, she laughs, caresses her belly.
No innocence, no tenderness, does this world spare.
The night is warm in the canyons, the hot winds still,
and she dreams as the starlight glitters in the pool.
The day was perfect, father will be coming from London.
I’m not sure if God in his Heaven is indifferent or cruel.
Too soon, too soon, she’ll be taken, stolen like the sky.
Father will be in London when it happens, not there.
A lower case angel, a child yet to be, butchered lambs.
She will be remembered, a pretty face, and golden hair.

The Child Is A Ghost

Sweet natured child. I’m told that was me.
In love with God. Enraptured by the sea.
Laughing and running, strange stories to tell.
Was I an angel when I was born? Have I fell?

I stroke her hair. I am warm. I am coming down.
I kiss her head. She sleeps easy. I gave her my crown.
I bury my face in her short hair. Her perfume gives dreams.
I am coming down. I am at a loss. My broken heart screams.

Restless, I put on hoodie and sweats, go onto the roof.
Stars remind of before I was born. God is bored, aloof.
He’d say it’s all my fault. Rev. Bradley too. I light a smoke.
When I am in her arms, I know what truth Jesus spoke.

A child is a ghost, an open wound, when you grow up.
The delights become darker. You tarnish your grail cup.
I strip naked, crawl into bed beside her, still wide awake,
filled with a dread, a sorrow, a rage, I can never shake.

Hope. A Wedding Dress

A gone to seed part of town,
by the water tower and interstate.
Thrift store beneath the overpass,
spend afternoons, our little money.
We made wonders of these scraps,
we made our light from these rags.
We found treasures of The Word there,
and we found a place to be as one.
One day, you found a wedding dress,
pure white and chintzy lace, faux pearls.
You came out of the dressing room,
looking like an angel, most wonderful girl.
Always said, you’d never marry,
never had a family, never lead that kind of life.
Seeing you there, I wanted you to be wrong,
for it to be you and me and on my wedding day.
And the years have passed, and I’m not young,
and you were taken from us, ripped from us.
You never married, and neither have I, will I.
The winter is just a reminder of light passing by.
I remember you, in that wedding dress, so bright.
Smiling, so happy, so lost in some dream, of hope.
It wasn’t our wedding day, and the world’s moved on.
But I remember, waiting for the hammer to fall.

Some Beauty Out In Cali

The city is sprawled out beneath, almost looks like magic from up here.
The sun is gone and there are no stars and I just want to forever disappear.
The city is sprawled out in golden veins and pinpoint stars in the valley.
I watch it all, above this city for once, dreaming of some model out in Cali.
Some beauty strong and lithe and who would party with me when I get there.
Some beauty in a swimsuit blue and white, and with a blue lilac in golden hair.
The city is sprawled and from here it looks like something glorious and bold.
Forget summer is fading, and she left me, and the nights are getting cold.
Some beauty out in Cali knows my name, and has a devil’s pearl in her eye.
Some beauty out in Cali will make love to me, and then we’ll cuddle, get high.
The city is sprawled like a sleeping maiden, vulnerable and bright and sweet.
But there is no beauty up close, there is no lover here, there is no magic on my street.
Some beauty out in Cali watches the storm roll in with the churning silver surf.
If I can find my way out west I will be in her arms, an alien on this morbid earth.

Sky Without Eyes

The roof of the house had a hole blasted out of it, beneath which we sleep, the two of us forced into a shared sleeping bag.

I held her tighter still in my arms, pressing her warmth against me.

My face is buried in her black curls that have gone unwashed so long. No longer is their the sweet smell of strawberry shampoo lingering in them.

Still it smells sweet to me.

The stars were clouds of whiteness in the stark darkness. The moon was hiding it’s face behind a veil of passing clouds.

She squeezes my hands in hers, murmurs secrets, whispers the name of God that had passed from all knowing.

The stars are not angels watching, but they are all that light us now.

The world man built is wiped clean. The cities empty. The sky without eyes.

We sleep in this house with it’s blasted roof, on a hard, uncarpeted floor. Drifting in and out of dreams. We hold to tight to each other, making sure each is still there when we wake.

Dreams of light and a garden and healing waters.

We dream of a child coming to us.

Two of us make one. Two made one make something new.

The child is dreaming even before coming to us.

The seed is planted, shall it grow?

High in the plains we’ve found a place to hide, a kind of Eden among the tall grasses and harsh hills and endless winds that blow through us like we were ghosts and not at all flesh.

If the child comes, faceless and new and too soon filled with sorrows, will it be like us, lost ones unsure and broken?

Is failure the soul of flesh?

Will there be another waiting for him? Will the flesh of humans fall away?

Me and her, in this house with it’s blasted roof, sleeping beneath the soft light of the stars, hold onto to life, and to the dream of something good.

The garden is ever and always out of reach.

Ride or Die

Mt Shasta, in early spring. Melting snow. Tender buds.
She holds tight to me, our helmets touching, at speed.
The UFO were all nested here, baby birds, shivering.
Left by a mothership, to do her will, win her battles.
She said she saw gossamer wings in my back, shiny.
She kissed me, said I could fight for her, and win.
The nest was in the mountain, where pale men, ghosts,
plotted the war, fed the baby birds, sharpened their talons.
That night, her body was warm and bare against my back.
She radiated, and swallowed that heat greedily, needy.
Were we soldiers, or angels going home, or releaser of
the light that all things. She said even the UFO shone bright.
I stopped the motorbike, looked at the mountain, helmets touching.
I fight for her. I fight for her, which is fighting for myself, for a home.
We might go home, or we might just leave these corporeal bodies.
We might lift the Demiurge’s curse, and make everyone free and clean.
I revved the motorbike and sped to gate between the road and heaven.
She said I had wings. That I could fight for her. She said I could win.

Maybe

Up above the city, the vein of gold in the darkness,

looking up at those white and distant stars,

hoping to feel humbled and small, so none of these

sorrows will  matter anymore.

Maybe a star will fall, like Lucifer from Heaven,

and I can go hunt down that fallen angel, and keep

him from adding to what’s already been done,

stop a bit of the violence that always going on.

Maybe a good angel, a real angel, will come down

and impart a message, whisper God’s Will in my ear,

so I can know where to go, what to do, what words to speak.

Maybe I’ll be chosen. God always chose to use fuck ups in The Bible.

Maybe, the cool wind that is a soothing balm in this blasted

July heat, and the softness of the call of insects, the hooting

of nocturnal birds, and the feeling of being between worlds,

above man, below God, will soothe all those writhing thoughts.

Maybe.


The Cross Stands As Winter Comes

Nicole: Who were you?

The name in pink on a

purple cross, on a lonely road,

out in the open fields and farms.

Young and dreamy, maybe distant

and angry, maybe on top of the world.

You were loved. You are missed.

The cross stands as winter comes.

The high school is nearby, did a boy

cry when he heard, heard his love was gone?

Does he dream of you at night, or remember

a first kissed shared under a starry sky?

So many crosses on so many roads,

so many endings in lonely places,

so many that can only remember now

those who were the world to them.

Me and Claudia Party Down In Heaven

Me and Claudia party down in heaven,

the night warm and the music full of fire.

Eyes meet, and it all passes away, as we smile.

The pain, the loss, the addictions that burned us.

All gone now.

We walk on the beach on the ocean that surrounds

the throne of God, bright and shimmering in the dark.

We hold hands, we kiss, we laugh in the waves.

I pick her up, spin her around, nothing bad here.

All gone now.

Her fiery hair bright like bronze in a furnace,

her pale face as white as our souls are now.

A kiss can really make the universe open up forever.

We are clean again, the poisons drained away.

All gone now.

Only love and forever here.