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cafes may bear witness to hope renewing

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strawberry cream tea  and this old, damp balcony rin and i at twenty four watching the city lights turn off, one hill at a time small cities do not change much.  rin's ladybird hung in the air like wind chimes, ceramic, winds of change having so much to say and leaves us pondering. how did we survive all those years? and why was love so painful? shifting in my seat camping gear, makeshift table rin wearing butter yellow though seeping red and my disposition growing heavier with every memory dissected the smell of my old twin bed lingers. witnesses may laugh for our lives are now so very different and yet, somehow, all the very same. rin takes the forefront  in all the painful liminal spaces, and she saves me when i find myself in the same terrible darkness. let us trust in what has happened we say there is not much else we can do clarity is in the psalms we once rejected and in the psalms that then saved you and what is God if all He does is answer in riches to every pray...
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what is love to loveless men?

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    all the writers who loved me      wrote about me so very lovingly      mistaking my wit for intellect      and my sorry state for perpetual melancholy           and those who cared little           about what I had to think           satiated their curiosity             with visual feasting           infatuating doll that can bend and moan                 and the ones who loved me sincerely                died so very many moons ago.                waning, waxing, crescent, gibbous,                what do I know? and now this vain pursuit offering love that is to die soon affection that may only las...
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you've changed faces and I'm getting to know them one by one

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sunday night,  what an awful dissolution you bring banana wine waltz in with valour leftovers --- last night's drugs  pulsating in your system the wonders of ecstasy with ladies far more open than me you ponder and sway as I prepare your lemon cake unaware that my mind has been made no more sunday nights as awful as this and what has friendship been to me all this very long hard time if you meet me inebriated and without a clue  worrying about the condition of your romantic pursuit but no man may be in pursuit of the river that changes course this delicate time all the people I know slipping away like sand and the silly grieving that follows of the person they were to me and the loving they left and no death is greater than the one that follows the loss for the person I was with them died with them and how I had achingly longed to meet her again.  you changed faces,  I'm getting to know them one by one but the next change may bear no witness for my hands and eye...
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they say Nepal is dying.

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they say Nepal is dying i can see it i can feel it in my bones yet all i worried about was to get the house rat out and well, cheesecake at Glenary's and when they served it  on a plastic plate all i remembered was my bamboo toothbrush standing tall in my tiled bathroom basin. Mordechai told me once, that these efforts do not make a change and so, what effort does it take? what are the marks  that my soles make any good for? when all i leave behind is something far worse than the marks left before. they say Nepal is dying i feel we will too,  soon and the church cries about salvation, and the rapture, the beginning of the end. alas! may God forgive us  for it is our own hands that have brought our suffering. 
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the atrophy of wings

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these sparrows charming singing softly beneath the soffit the rain occupies the skies sparrows' wings on prolonged rest, they must wonder how slowly the time goes by. and when the rain ceaseless worries may feel impenetrable  and will the wings remember how to carry  what is now a feathery stiffness body heavy with doubt.  do wings forget as the feet grow  accustomed becoming wise men of nested ground; branches no longer piercing, blankets for the new chirpers. warm by the window seat it is easy to forget the sun when all that follows rain is another endless round of thunder deafening and heavy clouds. warmed window seat; skin tanned. a few hundred doves eager for when a place  is found for those heavy olive branches  to land.
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a lover's devotion

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would you walk the distance if I asked? called to you from  this many miles away, your tired legs, heel bites, blistered feet, and no promise of a lover who heals. would you be so bold as to cross the line there to here quench your wishful thinking and drown  in the light of my presence. holy, holy. and if I asked you  to read my palms, would you feign lines of affection and call it fate? like love is a promised thing, and perform perseverance for all the many times I will walk away.  and would you, even if you did not have to, build a ship, learn to set sail to find shades of green, dragonflies that gleam, and give your life,  if you were to fail?
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mother mary

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when was the last time you held me, mary? like you meant it, like you loved me. all that you see now  is where i am compromised mary, are my wounds not yours to heal? forget the lousiness that brought us here, or all the hurt you bore from birth to now, what has veiled your affection, mary? as to beat me down, treat me foul. what do you pray for mary? who are your words meant to reach? for they read like testimonies, meant to preach rather than to reveal. God that you so lovingly praise, does He lead you, as well, in the way that you speak? when you rouse all my past doubts and you pick and scratch at the seams? my iniquities, now weapons against me, mary, mary,  it is thou that hast forsaken me. eyes who witnessed my suffering most, saw my fingers grow big, recalling when they were small. it is only you who knows so much of me. mary,  what sin did i commit? so treacherous was it, as to sever the cord  joining your womb to my mouth. forgive me, mary, i love you still...
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