Month: February 2017

Refinery Lines

I sewed the wind into comfort for you. I whitened black night with burning glass and blackened white lies with...

/ February 22, 2017

Why The Christian Right Is Wrong

Welcome to 2017 America, where the melting pot on which it was founded burns blood black and boils over with...

/ February 21, 2017

The Color Of Fog

Disclaimer: Contains mature themes.   “You’re old enough to be my father.” Edward Cain slugged a whiskey shot and set...

/ February 20, 2017

These Barren Fields

These barren fields, wolf-grey coats of bark and dust, coarse lines bleeding trails, idle in stillness, parsed, perched, widows of breath,...

/ February 20, 2017

Chains Beneath The Fray

Blackwater rinses marrow from bone, skeletons wash ashore: backbones, ribcages, rubber cartilage calcified with salt, jellied with flesh, imprinted on...

/ February 20, 2017

Do Not Grieve For American Christianity

Do you hear that? It’s a thunderclap of emotion, a seismic reverberation of anger and sadness that beats like a...

/ February 20, 2017

There Is No Sledgehammer God

There is no sledgehammer God — every rational being knows that. We can appropriate certain things to the Divine; we...

/ February 19, 2017

The Mercy Of Speckled Stars

Memories are like stars speckled across the night sky. Rarely linear in form, they’re merely loosely connected dots in the...

/ February 18, 2017

Fractal

This is the point where trying to hold things together for everyone else makes me fall apart. Fractal. It’s not...

/ February 17, 2017

A Repentance

Repentance. Waning appetite of faith-junctions betrothed. Relaxing, embracing tapestries lost. Misplaced versions of stark archetypes, leaning, beleaguering, vacating thin veils of guilt-shed sin on vandalized walls. We wait. Fake. Deface. Glorified perversions of angst-ridden blame, an upheaval of martyrdom placating grace. We wait like frost-white dalliances of hate. Forgiveness. Mirrored truths of disingenuous praise. Succumbing, shedding insidious skin. Forlorn ashes of dead souls, simmering, frothing, bequeathing tastes of half-sighed lies on brittle-dry lips. We drink. Sink. Relinquish. An artifact of fate belaboring grace....

/ February 17, 2017

Light The Torches: Grace For Divorced Christians

I’m divorced. Well, not really. I’m now married. Happily, with five kids. But I have been divorced, or, more appropriately,...

/ February 16, 2017

The Fringe

Aspiration leaves us hanging on precipices — balmy, nervous, like wet leaves sweating off midsummer rain. It gets us close,...

/ February 15, 2017