Split

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The one who knows
The one who doubts
The one who must be crazed 

The one in shrouds
The one laid bare
The one with proven skin

The one who wants
The one who must
The one who Heaven wills

Sunkissed 

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I will ramble 
With my hair pinned up
Wearing mirrored eyes
In a dusty truck
Down a dusty road 
Heading to a town
Where the clocks don’t work
And when I get there
They’ll say, just in time

Knuckle Ball

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I hope there’ll be fog
And some small clearing
And though I cannot command it
It seems
The situation would demand it
Given all the blind searching
The hanging heavy in the air
The questions
The confusions
The rain always looming off-shore 
I want the Sun to wait in complete quiet 
Just that once
As it bounces inside with anticipation 
Over who is about to receive his newly perfected knuckle ball 

little

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Pretender, who are you
Why do you wear white at night 
Is it true, as they have said
That you should not exist

What trouble brings your heart to act
Where others will not tread 
Here upon this storied way
Are you glad to guide me

Very Priceless 

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To be
Worth every tortured tear
and ounce of pain
and crying out on fighting knees 

With bare, grey, gutted heart
and sense of loss
-of deep, deep loss-
and certainty that there is hope

You
Even if 
You aren’t 
To be