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The light shone by the knife collapsed.
The assembled fell to murmurs.
First it was just one light for
one light feels many fractures.

When Jesus spoke to the choir he said
there's a reason Helsinki isn't in Texas
but that reason is not me.

His voice sounded like 50 bucks
of quarters in the air.
He said if handstands were magic
every child would fly.

Put those headphones on a skull
and watch it cringe.
He said if trust were a fire
its flame wouldn't burn at all.

Because it's easy to call
the poor man the rich man's poor man.
It's even easier to say
I shouldn't have been born with this third lung.

I bet we could write one hell of a book
just watching his mother's face twitch.
Give those hands some deft advice.

The wretch speaks on, fat man lives on.
The angel weeps on the earth
the devil strides on.

And if he spoke through me
I'd clear my throat and say
Listen! Listen
to nothing this man says.

Hope wears not a telecaster's shape.
Your soul is not a gravity bong.

Crush and glow.
God is rolling in his grave.


from The Lost Army, released January 14, 2011



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