-
ANOTHER EVENING SPENT
I wonder if there are priestssitting on beds drinking Diet Cokeand contemplating the meaningof heaven, of sex,of indigestion from a burgerand fries with onionsin a bar, the angelscovering their ears from the dinof four pool tables,of slipping on the spilled Red Rock,while outside the traffic thinsand the neon blinksits message to the gods. First appeared…
-
FORGOTTEN SOULS
From the heart of the infernoDante and Lucifer grow boredwaiting, waiting for the ferrywhile Charon stops for lunchyet again at a Greek dinerin the heart of Hell’s Kitchen.They take up a game of catchtossing Molotov cocktails,raining fire onto the brimstone,setting the Styx ablaze.Each knows this is not necessary,for necessity is a creatureof heaven and there…
-
HAUNTING
The ghosts of my birth parentsblow into my dreams asso many white sheets tornfrom the clotheslineby gale winds, fly over me,at once angels and vulturescarrying off memoriescreated from the clayof surmise and wishful thinking. I invite their visits, frailbranches to which to clingin the storms of growing age,beginnings tenuous anchorsto hold against time, knowingthe battle…
-
EMPTY SACKS WILL NEVER STAND UPRIGHT
There are nightswhen the songof a single cricketcan pull you away from sleep.She says that she has heardthat not all Angels have wingsand neither of themis sure how you would knowif you met a bodhisattva.He searches the mailevery day, for a letterfrom unknown birth parentsbut none of the credit cardshe ought to carryoffers to rebate…
-
ASKED AND ANSWERED
She wants to ask me how many lawyers can dance on the head of a pin, but she knows that at their hourly rates, no one will pause to count them. There is that, and the fact that lawyers are…
-
SUITS HIM
She says she is certain that she has seen the archangel Gabriel. It was late at night, to be sure, but it clearly wasn’t someone of this world and equally clearly not an alien, since there was no UFO or wormhole. She knew, as well, it wasn’t God, “Why would God trifle with me, when…
-
Subscribe
Subscribed
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
an old writer and his words 