Vindication

As lips part, unleashed dogs rip and wrought.
Choking on the tiniest thought.
That burn away nirvanic benediction.
And grabs the wood for your own crucifixion.
For a pox you are in eyes of scarlet tension.
A strangled lie of incomprehension.
That simmers to a sinner’s plea.
The fragile-ness of complexity.

An inner choir sings

You do not find it in the brush strokes of the saintly.
Or willowing wisps of utterances in cold hallowed halls.
Do not look for god in pages of prejudice.
Or underneath the rocky souls of the holy.
Light a candle and feel me.
Peel back the bits of Christ to find me.
Swimming in the shallow cells of you.
Awash, in the DNA of God.

Quiescent

She tried to save him on that day.
That day, when the coffee stained sky folded.
She reached out in her own way.
Only for her hands to turn to stone.
And her mind to dust.
A cruel trick of fate positioned her.
To watch his demise from such a vantage point of safety.
Silenced in an eternal knowing.
While a tempest raged in her eyes and mind.
So she threw it all back in time.
Crouched under her bed until the voices left her.
With bangs on the door and within her heart.
Which now thundered to a singular beat.
Then the vines crept up around her veins,
and she erased her broken kingdom.
At least she tried to.
Then disappeared into the rains that then came.
Leaving no trail in her wake, only questions.
And the angels covered her in mercy.
As she chased the dragons by the flooded lagoon.

Jesus jam

That Octopus, that alligator.
On heaven’s brow, god’s travelator.
Tipping the scales, licking honey.
Bring too all such milk and money.
Sipping on sweet lemonade.
Cherry wine and razor blades.
Who’s in danger?
Who’s in hell?
Count those cell phones with tortoise shells.
This computer says we are many things.
In need of love or diamond rings.
Error. Escape, with all the wrong friends.
Beatnik bars and downward trends.
Smile if you think we’re happy.
Laugh if you think we’re trending.
Certain grams, work alarms, good times never ending.
Pack your life now into a suitcase.
Sadness in a sardonic typeface.
Wash away those bruises with beer.
Turpentine and celebrity gear.
A neon fog to dull the senses.
Lowered expectations and all defences.
Forget that talk of Satan’s lamb.
The bits in-between, is Jesus jam.

The Smoking Nun

God’s grace, bathed in divine light.
Casting gold over cracking skin and fallen vows.
The vessel inside, so empty at the beginning.
Now overflows like a cup of human kindness.
What troubles does she have at the seat of the saints?
What ails her heart that cannot be soothed?
Sweet words from Jesus must mend the wound.
She smiles at a knowing, a celestial secret.
Whispered to her in the musky wooden rooms of god.
All this is but temporal.
All pain is marginal.
Your being is relative to the consciousness you invoke.
So why does she smoke?

Execution by evolution

Your ideologies hang by a tangled thread.
6,000 years of life they said.
Yet in the ground and in the tar.
Lies the truth (will out) like god’s memoir.
To bring about his own destruction.
For amber shows of life’s reduction.
And kills those narrow minded thoughts.
By adding to the six, a lot more noughts.

Indignities of war

Now the music sounds better without you.
The sound of rust and avoidance.
A pin of change, held in thy hand.
Explosions in their eyes, are merely the dying stars of hope.
As they drop bombs on everything you see.
All that once glittered was sold.
Packaged and peeled like your skin on the cross.
And we taste the regret each day.
And we forget each pain and stay,
locked in world of static.
Explaining each miracle away.
It once felt like home.
Until the sands rose and the waters melted.
And we looked once more in the back of our skulls.
Picking away at you on the roof of our mouths.
The tourniquets we place over the lands tear.
The crumble and crack of reason.
The pain is the only thing we’re happy to hear.
As we martyr those who walk your walk.
And silence those, with that familiar talk.
Of love.