Do not look up nor down. Look out.

Conversion Will Squander Blood 

When I was a Christian, a Christian

Told me about Christ, how to be

Saved.  I interrupted, told him who

I was.  There must be some mistake

In his eyes, a bent glow of conversion

Conversion, the sinner’s prayer

Bible study, onus and sin and

Feeling up Laurie Smith on the roof

Of the church while taillights on the 101  

Unzipped below, squandering

Squandering the Holy Spirit, prayer

Forgiveness, tithing my teen job to

Missions, for famines, for heaven

I don’t mean to be pedantic; worship

Your idols and demigods at will

His eyes rose porcelain and wide

To heaven and told me, “I’ll pray for you”

My devil’s horns rose, stabbing

Through his buffered soul, sucking
His bumptious Armegeddon blood

Blood lines are befuddling when born

Into a suit of human flesh. If you are

Ready you may open your eyes

Bring your attention fully back to earth

Do not look up nor down.  Look out

Written on the night train down to New Orleans in the observation car.

He's Told All Heals By Prayer But That Is Wrong

He's told all heals by prayer but that is wrong

The horse--emaciated--tells the sky

Its mane dances swiftly in a leap

All it sees is free but lands awry

A country croons unzipping North to South

In steel rhythms clipping over tracks

Wondering with fire what will peak out

Cold to hot they scream to carry black

Tangled limbs misguided from the bogs

Branches lusting crowded into clouds

Over skeleton of horse with broken form

Moonlit twisting thrusts above the cars

A boy sees all he needs from on his back

Under a blanket of dark is bliss

Hopping trains is calmer and relaxed

What we get away from is relative

Grain elevators sway abandoned in the air

Rust built towering above the sticks

Power plant looms across Jackson’s tracks

Hunkered up with metal upon bricks

Entering Yazoo City where a stork winds

Down its head in saccharine slumber

He curls warm and low in riveted bowl

While whistles go unnoticed in a blur

There is no wisdom past this murky hour

As station man pulls his humble lever

His peace is pummeled by a scrape

As gravity of stone surrounds his quiver

He wasn’t fifteen but loaded with pursuit

If only he could squirm to keep aloft

Not even swagger crushed his wince as

His steel room filled high with rock

If he could keep his chest above it all

And hold his breath into the night

Who would guess a burial by coal when

Like Vesuvius, dust turns to fright?

We wonder where boys who wander off

Have gone and dream to spot them in the sky

Though they are never far from us, we

Breathe their dust and burn them into light