Knowing

we slouch on the curb

you twisting a blade of grass

between thumb and pointer

a distant look in your eye

me with my head down

concerned with the pavement

the sun beats down on our faces

and the words that stop at my throat

don't need to escape

you know the thoughts

the worries

the doubts

and the fears already

you turn towards me

squinting

and offer a shy smile

a breeze lifts the hair from my face

and I smile back

that was all I needed

Continuation

I am from her incessant holiness

and little pins stuck through purses

congratulatory thoughts as light spoke into the darkness

from “what happened to her?”

to “what happened to them?”

I am from total rock music and seven swans

everyday, something golden and new

I am from early mornings

spent rolling through the fog on Samson or Jonah

I am from idealism

and I am from that smiling, bobbling head

gleaming with all promise and foreshadowing

I am from oxygenated, starry nights

with the windows down and melodies lifting us away from youth

and scattering us miles apart

I am from “SHOWERS!”, chow, a cannon

and a well-developed dread for the five o’clock hour

I am from the vine, a withered thirsty branch

filling up on Thursday nights

I am from reconnection after dissatisfactory chatter

half of those absences accounted for and

half hearted delinquency in the park

totaling one whole mess of my affections

I am from mourning my mother’s endless tears

and turning my back on David

praying for his redemption

I am from the glow of reality

brighter as layers of life continually peel back

in joy and in sadness

To to to

she feels the dirt falling under her feet

and sees the mountainous clouds colliding

rolling

peaks and valleys just miles above her head

manic shouts of thunder alert thousands of birds

to take flight away from here

every dried blade of grass folds

and buries itself hurriedly beneath the soil

to the left and to the right, she is alone

frantic, she sprints to to to

the place in her mind that takes her

away away away

from a lonely world that moves much too quickly

Mess

The woman covered in sandstorm robes

bent slightly to pull rope and motivate her bucket skyward.

It took all the strength in her arms

and inspired an ache in her thigh.

She clenched her jaw and breathed in preparation for

one last exertion

and falling backward, the woman saw the vessel rise

and sway

and spill across stone, sand, and cloth

before diving again, invisible, into the well.

She remembered that when one wrestles deep water,

one should expect to make a right mess.

In My Life

In my life, certain events are going to have to take place.
Recently I've been contemplating a list of specifics. Here are a few such goals:
-Meet J.K. Rowling and hug her brilliant head
-Visit DragonCon dressed as Buffy the Vampire Slayer
-Go to ComicCon dressed as Buffy the Vampire Slayer
-Spend a weekend in Helen, GA celebrating Oktoberfest
-Sit in on a sermon at both Imago Dei and Mars Hill Church
-Hang out with people in India
-Ride every roller coaster at Six Flags during Fright Fest
-Shoot the breeze with some weirdos at Burningman
-Have Tim Burton's child
-Have Taylor Hanson's child
-Write hate mail to both Taylor Swift and Colbie Callait
-Audition for American Idol
-Smoke hookah in Israel
-Write a children's book
-Go to Epcot and drink something different at every country
-Accompany youth on a retreat and attempt to teach them something significant

This list is not complete, but it is awesome.

Calendar

The days receive numbers to mark their many moons
They are packed in tiny squares, lined up by sevens
And stacked high by fours
Twelve large boxes swallow the constructs
And stand together, a silent and bleak train of time
Waiting for motion

Faithful

You’re fighting tears and withholding a venomous word

But don’t hold back

You’re pulling your hair and swallowing shame

But be careful not to choke

Your eyes are shifting towards the door and your feet fight to take you there

But the last thing you should do is run

Because when you’re cocooned under sheets and pillows, craving the comfortable veil of night…

His light is faithful to shine