Cave of Treasures

The cherub with his flaming sword
Had cut off the man and woman
From the world above.

The were sent down to the
Cave of Treasures because
They had not acted with love.

They stole a spark of flame
From the cherub’s sword to
Burn those they hated.

Instead they burned the world
And all that God made in it.
Was it always fated?

God spoke: “You took upon yourselves
The office of death and of judgment,
And now I turn my face away.”

“Down beneath the earth I send you,
Down from the sky and warmth of sun,
Down in the dark you must stay.”

The man and woman wailed and
Gnashed their teeth, crying out
In darkness and the cold.

They held each other and wept,
As above the sulfur and brimstone
Exploded, thundered and rolled.

“This is your sin, made of your own freewill,
Of your own heart and soul, stole fire,
Wanted be a judge and master of life

“You’ve ruined your world and
All I made to live and breath and be
In all your small minded strife.”

“Once before, after many bitter years
I sent someone who was to save you,
But your misuse of Him lit this fuse.”

“There is no relieving your wickedness,
No miracle you won’t desecrate,
No revelation you won’t abuse.”

The man and woman laid down in darkness,
Weeping in their humbling and ruin,
Having lost the sun and the Son.

Pride and vengeance forgotten in tears,
With no escape now from fruits of sin,
The Almighty not open arms in which to run.


Endless White Clouds

Her face is the public secret.

She touches her own face, unsure.

Flesh, muscle and bone; solid.

It stares back, ethereal and perfect,

From a Times Square billboard.


On the roof, a cigarette of many,

Ashes make a quieting meal today.

On a family vacation through Utah,

She saw endless white clouds of stars.

The moon is cold and alone here.


In her bedroom, a pinprick of blood,

The photograph of a lost loved one.

They need nurturing in paradise.

A drop of blood brought hidden halo.

Magic burns, vice the preserving ruin.


And that one day, early fall, cool, bright.

The century begin by tearing down

The halo to replace it with sunken horns.

She watched, new in town, new to

The eye that revealed in haughty obscurity,

As our faces came all too clear to see.


The model looks behind her from the rooftop; the world is burning.

The century has made a joy of her face, a trinket of her pride.

The city sinks away, and a new demon and king has come for her.

Paranoia make joys of that king’s words, words that break the the cross.

The model will be the moon to the victor’s sun, soft light soothing.

But shards of the broken cross pierce het heart, and it’s all for naught.

I make magic from that spilled blood, to restore love in hope in this century.

The world burned as she looked back, and her wings were reapers as nothing changed.

Shave and a Haircut

Monthly hair cut and beard shave, the wild edges made smooth and sharp, a previous eras handsome.

As the shock of hair is made orderly, and my face is again smooth and young as the beard is taken away,

I see my father in the mirror, the young man who once was there in me, another way in which I am just like him.

I am a stranger to him, but he has left his mark in my blood and soul. I wish words from him were as easy to find.

We are different souls, but I carry his face into the world.


All these things unsaid, angers and resentments, that are rooted and harbored in us, that the other never knows.

Rev. Bradley, with his arrogant God that puts spite and cruelty in his heart, that makes me turn from his gospel, his supposed message of love.

But whom do I hurt and aggrieve, that my own assuredness blinds me to, I unable to realize what I’ve done to them, and they turn away from me?

What sins am I guilty of?

Word Made Flesh

The word made flesh loses something coming to matter and fallibility. Our world incomplete and out of reach of true light.

The words written down swirl in confusion in our hearts and tongues, all claiming to be right and true. Plainly says is just more Babel.

So many hurt, so few heal. Devils and angels line up sacred writ to draw blood. Got left it to us to say, always silent while we fight, as we praise Him.

Streets of Monaco

The Taiwanese woman, smoking a

cigarette with a dark and regal air,

Stray ashes falling on her black blouse,

Petals of youth, sacrificed with such care.


In the arcade we play racing games,

The streets of LA and of Monaco.

When you are enraptured in her,

You’re safe without a place to go.


Driving in the night, disassociating,

The melancholy music so bittersweet.

We young eat ourselves to be bright,

Poison our hearts to soften the beat.


We make love, the world made nothing.

The sun is shaking off catacomb dust.

Potential children drip out of her as

She showers, lost seeds of lust.


Saturday morning, a little time now,

Before the sun punishes our hearts.

Mad and corrupt, but still so real.

Loss is here before life even starts.

Smooth Shoulders

Did you sew angel wings on Sophie’s back, made with care and tenderness from hollow and white crow bones, swan feathers and melted wax?

Did you think they’d make her fly, this fancy of yours? That she would wear them as a wedding gift? That they were at all wanted? This imposed sainthood?

You imagined her in the sky, the stars behind her, daughter of the moon, offering a hand to take you up as well, above all the shit that hurts you.

But she is a woman, not an angel, and does not welcome being made into one. Angels are always cast down when they fail. She cannot make you whole.

You are not Percival, only Tannhauser, and Elizabeth is not the way out. Love Sophie’s smooth shoulders and fallen grace. Love is sweet, but are all broken.


Martyr Twin

I called her Rachel, though that was not her name. She looked like the martyr that led me back.

Sad eyes that I wanted to know, to hear their whispering and their prayers, and to make them my own voice.

Party with church friends at a haven I”d return to year later. It was her birthday, angel guarding the hour.

A golden crucifix we”d all chipped in for, as she said she was leaving out west, to do The Lord’s Work, where demons hid.

I cut a piece of my soul out, a shard from all the love I”d been allotted, and melded it into that spotless gold.

Within a week I had to watch her plane take her to her mission in The Rockies. She hugged me goodbye. The gold ringing.

UFO Radio

Maybe we could just be companions, like on the Dr Who reruns we loved when we were in elementary school.

Just friends, soul mates of more true and intimate kind, connected by clear thoughts and unbroken hearts.

On our grand adventure north, across the Canadian plains and to the deep forests, we can still be innocent.

Just us, true as we ever were, with audio dramas and UFO radio late at night as we drive in the empty nowhere.

Sex corrupts hearts and has ruined every good thing I’ve ever had; don’t let it ruin us too or our great escape.

The money saved, car ready, all settled. Let us be angels out their in the wilderness, not demons suckling Lilith.