God Poems, Poetry

An Aging God Considers His Birthplace

Golden Sexuality sits by an open window
his hair shining, his lean legs crossed.
He considers the cave-riddled hills
wearing their shadowy green
the glacier-strike lake they curve into
born cold, gone balmy, rippling life.

He remembers stag chases
trysts in the leaves—the fleshy
shock and shudder discovering
exposed roots with his bare back.

He sinks his consciousness into the water
the fingertip tendrils of his god-form first

followed by his instinct-flexed shoulders
still warm from the running catch
his hollow chest where the feral heart echoes
root-wounded back
crossed legs
golden, shining hair.


God Poems, Love Poems, Poetry


One fourteen-year-old lies
in another’s lap face-up
squeezing the pimples on her
I’ll-die-for-you-sweetheart’s scabby
sunburned face.

I lie
with you, naked back to the earth
dug deep
moist and freshly turned
picking the teeth of a death trap.


God Poems, Poetry


He offered me a cigarette from a gold case.
“Try one of mine,” he said,
and maybe didn’t mean the cigarette.

It could have been laced with psychedelics, but
his deal-striking face
by the blue flame he lit me with
lulled my terror of the monstrosity
it might become later—
the teeth with which he would tear at my inner thighs.

I watched the cherry crawl up the paper—
promiscuous death in her wedding whites.


God Poems, Love Poems, Poetry

A Soft Place to Carry (poem)

He mended his side, his Christ wound
sharply, his face distorted by pain—
the needle a thick catharsis,
the catgut a chanteuse in loose stitches.

He dug out his liver first
to make a nest for his love
who made herself small
enough to crawl in.
Who made herself animal
enough to luxuriate in
the wet perfumes of carnage.