bound

passing fables down the table
like potatoes and green beans--
no one takes the last spoon full,
all eye  last roll
and cross contamination comes when spoons are shared. 

i feel so small when not allowed speech-- when not allowed answer--
when rutted in roots that mangle tangles of brainstem
and stream
from eyes to lies left from one perspective to another.

how are we real and why deal
with what we dealt when we can call one more
to bust--
to break, to bend, to push our luck till stuck
with empty pockets of worth.

smile blankly, love like blankets-- you are my soul
and know little
of my mind.

thee hated of me

which is greater-- to love despite dislike
despite despise disgust mis-trust
dirty dinner dust
swept beneath carpet of our skin
dirtying our with-in
to find a rag some where
to wipe clean the lens
that allows light in;
to change perception and put down pride

or

to find one's self and surround
with those abounding in what you have found to be astounding,
grounding and giving, worth living for
and
for them?

at what measure does one stay because you're needed,
nay, presence wanted,
wanton wanting of weariness and waking starts

at what measure
does one take the toll of reprimand of self, of demand to not be what one is;
to become different, to suppress, or more so surprise oneself with what one can disguise?

but where does one find core, and betray anything below mantle boiling,
only instead to make low the mountains and fill the valleys,
smoothing edges the bump as stone tossed by sea and sand
to become a meeting place
for God-- for goddness
possibly
of humanity?

God is good,  the pastor said,
           all the time,  we reply,
all the time  he responds,
        God is Good, we move on.

here stands I
and you, and mother's daughter and sons of sisters too,
here we stand at the the point of compromise,
the place where we know not what to do.

how far removed
must we become
to become life abandoned
for life abounding.

there was man
impressed by me--
silver tongue and wit had I said he.

but spirit warned of wander ways,
i stay away and come to thee.

thee
who finds no degree of honor with me.
no feature beyond skin of which to be praised.
only once said, fallen in love with kindness,
but thus was lost when uncovered my blindness.

but love so strong of one you hate.

have I hated the one who loves me,
or loved the one who hates me?

at what point are these features opposite,

for do we not choose, and thus control,
while having no choice, and no control?

oh, stole,
stolen dear,
steal away with me
from my mind and misconceptions,
deceptions
untold
till we find ourselves as humans
forgetting all known unknown.

let us fie, fie on thee!
oh, lie, lie
you lie next to me.
but how brittle till one tongue breaks?
how brittle
till one earthen heart quakes?
and wakes instead
all nightmares hidden from

foaming forth in mass array
these truths our words cannot say
that swallow both our voice and measure
our intent, self, and one another.

 still, heart grows hardened till broken open
and i allow
cracked light to enter
caring not offenses done
caring only for arms and sun.

came that they may have life!
Life! more abundantly

I have life when i forgive thee.
do you have life?
do you ever forgive

me
for being
me?

it's nice to be praised for ability

to be know 

and seen

as something worth seeing.

but what grows us then?

when challenged not?

what forms our hearts?

if not told where to start?

you i hate who does not adore

but you i love who loves not what i fight for

may compassion and forgiveness seep;

may my mind at some point sleep

and sleep next to thee who chose me

foolishly

but loves my office,

my position

in loo of what 

I am. 

jeans

i changed again
to jeans
so they can hug me
when you won't.

i changed again
to fit
my need to hide;
to not stand out.

i changed again
to justify
my faded feeling,
washed with withdrawal

from you.


but i spoke
words
too loud
               deafening your delicate ears,
                              your delicate mask
                               your false
                                              identity.

but i've always lived
my life
          out loud--
          twirling in skirts
                                you loved
         twirling with thoughts
                               you abhorred.

i use lower case i's
to fit my thighs
inside jeans
of humility,
                 no,
                 of hiding myself
                 LOUD.

Does God Believe
in himself?

would we
exile and detest God if he told us
"I am not a Christian
a Baptist
a Mennonite
a Methodist
baptized,
saved,
I do not pray
do not go to church on sundays.
Nor am I a Sufi,
or of Abraham's decent

no,
none of that am I."

Would we become angry,
let Down by holy one
if he told us,
"I get mad.
I wish death upon others.
become frustrated with you,
laugh with lesbians,
cry with prostitutes,
I with hold imformation
from others' ears--

I party for years
and like to collect tears."

would we exile God if he said,
"I cannot trust you,
for you fail
again and again."

would we spit in his direction if he told us,
"You are not one of great importance
or great matters;
you do not obey
and hurt
those around you."

would we call him fool and wicked if he shouted or even whispered,
" I do not agree
with what you believe
and the actions
you justify
for your selfishness that seethes."



Would we refuse to call him God if he remarked,
"But,
I love you
              anyway
for in you,
oh human,
oh man
I have invested
                      so much.
even though you
                        Hurt Me
                        Ignore Me
           and hurt Your Self

even though
                  You Project
                   You Blame
              and Make Up
                                   what you do not know

I      Still       Love You  -- I
still want to be with you,
however small a portion I am in your life,

I want to be all of it--I want you to trust me,
for I know how to keep some pain away;

I want to trust you, but find I cannot-- but I love you anyways."

What would we say to a God who works in quite action
& Fiathfulness
                    to men who seek him

what would we say to a God Like That

instead of one who calls us

Privileged

                                             oh, human
                                             oh,           Israel.

                                                                                                   perhaps we do not recognize
                                                                                                   the Image of God
                                                                                                                              in ourselves
                                                                                                                                                anymore.





Who is God's?

                  
                           

mitosis- the division of self

Divide,
Divide
         step to the side.
but exact copy
is made;
            ripping of self, division.
to think
inside
millions of you
                      are ripping apart
               yourself

to think
just now,
           millions more
           of your own flaws
           are rplicated
           reciprocated
                              and kept

can one run from self
if one divides self?
                     
peeling apart,
a copying of sorts
                          no long what was, but now, how does one decide
                          which daughter was first
                          and which to leave behind?
mitosis is...
mitosis is...
                the division of cells?
my crisis is
               the division of self.

give-ness {of self}

what i thought to be spite,
rancor glossed over features,
face varnished in my sweater

was really
pinicle forgiveness;

absorbing my offense with marrow;

owning pain his own to bone and bade-ing  sadness,
bade-ing truth fill  and come in truth of hurt,
in truth of brokness
                             and broken love.

in moment of spite,
no, everything not all right
not quite
ready to give respite of fight
till in sight is his own

heart
own self
              peeled back as skin from muscle,
               nerves vulnerable to slightest touch
           till tough varnish covers all and speaks to me,

"I Don't Like it When you hurt me.
  

Winnow

knitted love
provides no protection
as flustered ice drops
cover my path. 

wind withholds
only to dissolve
only then to winnow--
winnow my steps;
winnow my breath.

and i am scattered
among the drops
till soaking knees and soaking socks
also drop

and the wind won't run;
no, it stands against
to winnow my steps
and winnow my thoughts.

turn to see
how many steps till i return
but the wind covered  my path;
it's covered my past.

white as snow,
oh, no.
dark as night.

choose the clique,
for neither quite right.

but Winnowed I Am.
the deepest part.
Winnowed I Stand.
how does one start

again ?

worst

to prepare

i dialogue

with you in my mind
as i assume and find

the worst.




to repair

i distance

 all known reality
that shown through brevity

& the worst

is you
standing close, still. to me

as i assume

the worst
of you.

who is worst? the one who hurts.

plodding days

rain spittle and train 's brittle travel

on tracks of iron

speak me softly into the joy

the tip of my heart had temporarily 

forgotten.

pulled

we must always veer
from extremes
lest our fears
became reality.

one vision may evoke
that path marked off,
fear of choking
killing possibility.

I have found
leaving all open
provides ample ground,
while footing of stone
keep us from slipping under deserts of direction,
from quipping into sink hole
left unknown.

well kown, well grown are we!
who come so far just to find
ambiguity.

more so than me,
Morse code conducts conversations caught
click by click
in hesitant heresy.

to make voice less than human; to give but beepping rhyme,

but, oh, how I am guilty
of taking the reality out of rational.

my own compromise disguises my fears;
my fears disguising my own compromise

and Job telling, "God, what gives"
And Biliad blaming me,
"You see! what unrighteousness have ye?"

but though pits fall,
they grow again.
once spit out from juicy flesh,
must die to bring forth more.

where is the line of dying and death?
what constitutes difference of noun and verb,
like ser and estar we are told;
gringos just learning the difference between state and fact:

if dying is to be made darker,
then death is to remain dark.
but even pain fades,
till every tear is wiped away.

smile

i wonder if your smile
was ever for me.
pursed, photo lips because
you thought
"she'll see this."

i hope not.

it would just be

another lie.

hard.

I don't like to say that things are hard.
perhaps, because them i am weak,
perhaps, because then i am complaining,
perhaps, because then i am challenging the path i am on,

challenging my ability to press on.

I don't like to say that things are hard.
maybe, because then i could give myself grace,
maybe, because then i would have less responsibility,
maybe, because then i'd have to rely on other humans for support

and i don't want to do that.

i want to speak of you,
to speak with you,
to have you here.

not because i want you,
but because i miss you

and this is hard.

but, i can in no way speak,
make no sound that may ripple your surface,
that may tremor your experience far away.

instead, i'll pray.
because this is hard.

first snow

they whirled in ,
giving form to sharp cold that had been biting ears,
presenting softness, reflecting our blankets much more than the air they inhabited.

the sun shown,
adding brilliance to arrival of first snow,
and i thought, momentarily, that i wanted you here to share fervent flurries;

as quickly as they came,
their parade withered down to wet sidewalks,
leaving no trace of their grand austere that, for moments, dominated our world.

and i am left
with meltings of you, dampening my heart.
the fading of reality, distant as exquisite  crystal tracings in warm palms.

is our story the same as white blankets melted?

play dead

Done

with 

idle

pretending

that 

wounds

 myself

and everyone else

including you

who I thought

I was

protecting.

foolish child.

no such thing

as protecting.

only pretending.

Am I Done

pretending 

that i want you?

goshen autumn

distracted as the side walk
who slopes down to puddle rain
contemplation disturbed
by a thousand pinches of refrain

distracted as the button
given much stress
not asked to do more than its occupation
but threaded with cords of unrest.

distracted as the pages
flipped through by one fervently searching
no answer to be found unless taken
slowly
to hear the sound of each finger turning.

distracted, but not dismissed
not present, but tallied any how.
the presence of form does not excuse the lack of response when called,
the lack of a verbal, "Here."

no. the pane rattles too eloquently to be ignored.
it also requires my presence
as round gems form on slippery slope--
who else will trace their path?

I am needed to take notice
to watch the rain as others adhere to the lesson--
less than wanting of my distraction
that chills essence as we rub our palms,
gray howling noise in the distance becomes
my anthem.

not very far are those outside.

tangled mess

"I led them 

with cords of human kindness, 

with ties of love; 

I lifted the yoke from their neck

and bent down to feed them."

Who is speaking?

does this not sound like the carpenter?

I tell you the truth,

these words were spoken

before his body was broken;

before we replaced his body

in unity

as the body of Christ.

Already,

Yahweh speaks

of humans

as his hands,

handed down from the nation

the new testament

holds nothing new. 

"How can I give you up, Ephraim? 

How can I hand you over, Israel?

My heart is changed within me; all my compassion is aroused."

From where is this passage?

not from the mouth of Christ,

but from before
him who was

before.

How then, can any call my God

cruel?

because we suffer the actions of fellow humus?

because pain plays part 

in our existence?

you run the risk 

of ruin

 when you create,

run the risk 

of pain

when you live,

run the risk

of loss

when you love,

in this world.

Take Heart.

 He has over come the World.

expression, outloud

sometimes
we laugh quietly to ourselves
while others are in the room

because
 we want
to be heard.

for others present
to ask

"What's so funny?"

sometimes
we cry obnoxiously to ourselves
while others ignore

because
we want
to hurt.

for others present
to ask

"Was that not funny?"

but still, our expression
may go beyound our wanting,
beyond our caring,

Laughing for sake
of joy
despite who is near by to hear.

Crying
despite our deisre
to remain invisible to all near.

Can expression outloud be forgiven
for disturbing our neighbor

with sound
with guilt
with common thought
with attempt or accident

of shared emotion?

the individual man does not exists.

if he is not accompanied by somebody,
he is always accompanied


by himself.

words reordered: new definition of commitment

hello?
hello?

can we just be friends?
can we just

befriend
&
learn

from one another
and use our heads?

I believe you
when you say

you love me

I believe you
when you said

you're happier
with me by your side.

That is valuable;
Honorable.

but, do not deceive yourself.

I am not the source,
I am not the light.

I may be a bulb,
a star,
or more likly, a moon.

yes, you've never felt this.
yes, this is

good.

but, how you have deceived yourself.
How we have deceived ourselves

to think we were more

than ordinary

Humans.

We are normal people,
who fell the same way as other
ordinary people

who learn, and live,

and grow.

there is nothing
extra
to our ordinary,

not even our pride, or delusion, or hope.

Our belief that somehow

our first

was meant
to be

our last

is a normal hope.
a normal deception.
a normal pride,

that we're different from everybody else
who's saying
the exact same
ordinarily
extra-
ordinary things.

so, instead of deception, let's cling to hope.

let us add unto ourselves
understanding,
opening up our hearts for other,
opening up our hearts for each other

killing expectations
to cultivate
learning.

I am not your Wife.
You are not my Husband.

perhaps one day,
if we become
extra-ordinarily
different
from who we are
then we could cultivate a life

together.

but today,
we have come,
extra ordinary,
different,
from who we each are,
that we may cultivate life

together.

will you,
with me, seek promise of life
in place
of promise of life with me?

There always remains

Hope when Faith learns to Love.

laugh

"that used to make you laugh."

well, i was frustrated with never knowing.
with hearing you say one thing, hiding behind yourself.

I'm sorry that i didn't laugh,
or perhaps i apologize that i did.

for none should laugh unless they mean it.

laughter is more powerful than tears.

how then, shall i make you laugh?
how then, shall we brings smiles to our faces?

a midst adversity, and quandery, and findings-out, and fighting doubt,

how do i let you know

I am here

to be your friend,
           not a fiend,
       or your fire

but simply to be

and beat

what we have

to get through.

all i want
is be a team.

let's laugh,
and not take ourselves too seriously.

space.

movement loudens
in empty space

de-familiarizing
places once filled

every movement
now thought out

every breath
known to walls

and ceiling
and floors
and crevices
                    we now take notice of.

silence seems superb  when unheard,
but when standing in for laughter,

it daunts.

draft directions for infection, holding firm voice of vastness
too much
for us
to think about,
that grasps us,
when questions quake
all the more.


the buzz
of halogen of fluorescent bulbs

let us know our answer.