So Long, _________

so long, we say,
falling back into the
waking and moving,
the working and resting,
toward the shadows
where we move, unseen,
working for the world
that will never
know our name.

so long, we moan,
it’s been so long
since we could look
at ourselves and see
someone familiar.

so long, we say,
so long to self-doubt,
so long to self-pity,
so long since we could
stand, so long since we
could speak, so long since
the light has broken into
the shadows that lengthen
at the edges of the sun.

too long.


don’t let this be you

in our minds, we right
our wrongs–

in our hearts,
we’re always right.

left of center,
but still in the field,

chasing the moment
to voice our righteousness–

all hearts closed,
all tongues sharpened,

whetted by indignation,
quenched and tempered with pride–

voices lie fallow,
hearts grazing on ash–

the philosphical millipede of progress


  1. Formation of Image
  2. Seeking in Imagination
  3. Clouded Sight/Unclear Vision
  4. Collective Unconscious
  5. Universal Consciousness


  1. Breaking of the Image
  2. Imagination Restructured
  3. Sharpening the Senses
  4. Drawing from Depths
  5. Universal Order


  1. Inertia
  2. Dissatisfaction
  3. Limits and Boundaries
  4. Active Deconstruction
  5. Completion of the Fracture


  1. Silence
  2. Light
  3. Sound
  4. Sight
  5. Waking



    The Beggar’s Glory

    Open-ended, open-mouthed,
    left dangling in the sun.
    Corroded with cohesion to
    a listless, tiring run
    to sanctuaries where sleep
    will find the beggar and victor
    all awake, all weeping,
    all rapt in succor.

    Sweet for those whose eyes have taken
    up the cross-bearing others have forsaken.
    Sweet for those in quiet repose
    from a world, broken, shaken.

    All hearts aligned to the beggar’s
    and all thought made to conquer the worm.
    Turning, turning, ever turning.
    All in a violent storm.

    He Who Takes The Stage

    A fragrant story to bear the weight
    of the many who came before
    and those who lie in wait

    for the closing of the velvet curtains
    on the last play of the hand,
    the crumbling of the infernal visage,

    lying broken in the sands.
    A tale! A tale!
    We beg of you, a tale!

    Before we go off into our lives,
    give us the tale of your own!
    What lives you lived

    in all the years of centuries
    come and gone! Give us a
    story, a poem, a song!

    But no word was spoken and no
    promise broken as the velvet
    curtain drew itself closed.

    No form stood from audience
    or stage to sing of lives, age to age,
    to the ear of young and old.

    A Worker’s Prayer

    O Lord, Heavenly Father,
    Creator of all things
    visible and invisible,

    bless, this day,
    the works of my hands,

    that an unseeing world
    may see You, not me,
    in those works,

    and that the work
    I do may be acceptable
    to you, to whom we give glory.

    May Your Kingdom flourish,
    O Lord, in this world and
    all worlds, all ages.

    And may we always be
    steadfast in our resolve
    to do the work You ask of us

    and committed to the task
    of preparing the Kingdom
    for the coming of the King.

    May the Lord bless all
    who labor and toil
    by the sweat of their brow

    to sustain themselves
    and sustain all people.


    Among Ancient Giants

    Strokes sounding as clean as winter’s
    singing into the cold air.
    Chopping as precise and powerful as
    the men taking hold of the handle
    to begin their work.

    The oak, its roots as deep as the core
    where from this myriad family was
    tall and austere, the ironwood not
    giving way to the song the men sing.

    Each of them, the men, the oak,
    doing as they do that they may live,
    only that they may live.

    The rules of one, governing not
    the other, but the rules will be kept
    to keep one another alive.

    The laws will be respected,
    whether or not they are our own.