I Have a Friend in Jesus

 “I have a friend in Jesus”
says the kid sporting a
second-hand suit and
disinfectant eyes.

With a righteous buzz he
greets strangers,
distributes pamphlets,
spreads his word,
immune to their
rejection and

How comforting his faith must be - 
to swim the
medicinal vapors
of certainty,

rather than gather
apples in the
orchard of
not knowing.

Segment of Historicity

 Friendly travelers
casting off gravity,
transmission built to talk to ghosts,
a roadside distinction.

Just say this:
transit of spirit animals
nothing living,
don’t tell lies.

Beat spirit,
respirator buzz,
shadow gratitude,

confessions to my unborn daughter:
when the heart emerges glistening,
one mustn’t expect figs from thistles;

to see what other people don’t,
to see obstacles as inspirations -
to be a peaceful warrior 
in an invisible cinema.

Sometimes Things Just End

It doesn’t much matter
what yips and squeaks
leak and dribble from our
little selves,
those cuts and scars
tattooed in the caverns
of memory, beyond recognition,
like electricity.

Habits, hankerings
and those entitlements
play like cheap burlesque,
to an audience of nought,

and miss the point:

everything gets gone,
not sometimes,
but always;

and one of the
numerous human tasks
is to know
when that inexplicable end

is important.