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?

Tender

Like the night. A soft velvet expanse.
Reaching through time.
Through misty eyes which open wide.
They devour me.
In a kiss that kills me, over and over.
Yet tenderly I swim down.
Passing jagged words you keep inside.
Released, only to the moon.
As you howl them into nothingness.
For tender is your way.
Sweet bruises of affection which stay,
within us forever.
As we nestle into the tender wings of love.
Slipping into time.

Heliocentric detours

A story unfolding at the speed of life.
Unplugged or imbedded.
I think I missed the Milky Way.
Drinking once more from a cup of stars.
Do these words seem familiar?
As they slide once more into focus.
Chewing on your past like a shark in a bathtub.
Filled to the brim with sorrow.
Eyes, that are empty.
Call for tomorrow.
As your moon hangs heavy in your heart.
Blue, like the subterfuge that shrieks past like a shooting star.
Call it what you want, taste it like confusion.
But be sure to rinse you mouth with the irresistible.
And swallow the sublime.