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That way you whisper
Biting your tongue and looking
over your shoulder for
ever longing for a sunrise
on the west horizon,
well, don't hold your breath
or do and soon, baby, soon
we'll be through, and you
will be somewhere new
somewhere really freaking different, too.
hope for new experience
and you chase the wind,
and you are meaningless
like everything.

Snail

As the spiral downs the last snail in twisting turns,
his slimy words slick the floor, and slipping,
she sees what had become a mess of missed steps,
missed suggestions she leave and be,
something, anything besides his side,
his lies, cheats and steals, his bride, his soon-to-be
corpse,
sliding through the salt and shriveling there
so quickly dehydrating like some
siphoned fuel tank, so now the fire's out,
soaked in the truth of what he was, a snail,
slick words a pathway of pain and depravity, spiraling away
as she steps forward for once and God, it feels like
Life.

Like Flies To...

Maybe one morning it'll be you on the wrong side of the bed,
your memories a mutinee determined to flee from your head,
your stomach an ocean of storms, bubbling up from below,
and your ship's sunk, yeah, your ship is sitting on the ocean floor,

maybe one day, baby, your choices won't be yes or no,
and in the gray, you'll walk through places you swore you'd never go,
you'll mess up and you'll be judged by those thousand eyed
religious type flies that always flock to the waste of life,

flock to the refuse, like you do

Maybe this morning it'll be you with outstretched arms,
Eating dinner with those this falling world has charmed,
Gnawing away at the pain that so frequently enslaves
And fakes us out with false promises that hide big waves,

maybe one day, baby, we'll be intertwined in our wedding bed,
Finally realizing that love is not just some four letter word we said,
but something we're so undeserving of, and we'll be thankful too,
because while we were covered in the waste of this life, You

flock to the refuse, like You do

And if we make mistakes, you're there,
and I don't care, too much, oh yes, I suck
But if I'm going to be in love,
I gotta get out of this funk,

And when people fall around us,
instead of pointing like a fly,
we'll try to help them rise,
we'll try to help them rise
we'll try
we'll try
we'll try to help them be alive.

Christmas

When I was a kid, we would go to the nearest Catholic Church each Christmas Eve for service. We don't anymore. Other than a wedding and three funerals, I've managed to avoid the Catholic Church altogether for the last 10 years. My first Christmas as a married person, I joined Becky's family at the church where 10 weeks earlier, I was married, for a Christmas Eve service. It was the last time I went to church so close to the holiday. I miss it, I think. As I drove from Virginia Beach to Fredericksburg alone yesterday (Christmas) evening, I was happy to have spent time with family, but I was feeling incomplete.

It may have had to do with the bruised face my nephew had after my sister-in-law's dog had a brief freak-out. It may have had to do with how people were really angry, like really angry, despite apologies. It may have had to do with the lack of good sleep I'd had in the previous few nights. I think it was a combination of those things, but I think those things were are reflections of the lack of grace, and more importantly, the lack of JESUS in the holiday. I don't expect some corporate discussion of Jesus and His importance to the world, and His birth being the whole reason we have this season. Truly, the fault lies with me. Before anything this morning, I should have isolated myself, or maybe Becky and me, and read the story of the birth of Christ (Matthew 1, Luke 1, John 1:1-5). I should have gone into the day with that on my heart and my focus rather than my desire to see my daughter open presents and drink coffee and eat food. All great things...there is no feeling like watching Ariella open a gift and realized, "This is for me..." but not THE MOST IMPORTANT.

Thank God for grace.

I love you.

Gun

simply put the shell in
pull the thing, then the trigger,
and if the safety's off,
you'll be able to tell quick,
because you won't even hear the click
just the shock and recoil,
the ear-splitting ring atop
the thunder-like explosion,
and soon you'll see holes in
something,
hopefully what you wanted.

life

Look here, see.
This sign says change,
or hope, but frick man,
I'm standing cold,
no cash of my own,
just this soup kitchen
that makes me listen
to sermons about a life
I may be missing,
what God wants of me,
well where the hell is he?

Look here, man,
my shoes' soles show
more sock and toes and
i'm feeling more and more cold,
and as I grow older,
I'm finding more and more
charity fades
and the friendly faces
they've been replacing
with scrutiny, as if
I was doing this to me,
as if I wanted tosleep
in a tent beneathe the trees,
as if if I followed God I'd see
that there's a bed for me,
well, I tried that.
and I think I have to die before He
relieves me.

Well, maybe that's okay.

Just believe me,
I believe, but still
I live on the frickin' street,
but see, it's not just me,
there's people who need to feel free,
there's people who need to see,
need to breathe again,
deeply,
wholly,
completely absorbing everything,
and knowing that this shit life
if temporary
fleeting,
soon to be but a memory and
treasures in heaven
are awaiting despite the things,
the sickness,
the drugs
the choices,
the life,
that put me on the street,
it put me on my knees.


I hope to help that story form.

Mission

Lend me a morning, and I'll teach you to sleep,
Think I'm self-destructive? well I've done learned to weep,
I've done what I can, and God, I'll do it again,
Yeah I'll give up on home, and head for the road
if that's what you want me to do,
yeah is that what you want me to do?

Hold me til morning, she said soft in my ear,
I'd love to but can't, for tomorrow is near,
I've done what I can, and God, I'll do it again,
But the sea keeps on calling, and the sea won't give in
and so I'm off in the morning
to spread the good news, yeah, the God's honest truth,

and heaving ho, my love
I've got to go
It's a calling again,
And I can only submit
To the message of a king
the world just struggles to see,
and oh me,
oh my, We must forget about me
oh me, oh my
we must forget about I,
for if in the end,
we give in to death,
we'll find ouselves alive
when we've forgotten of I