Here’s something lame: the theatrical release of a documentary (narrated by Ben Stein) about the tribulations of Intelligent Design proponents.
Story: The Obituary
When I answered the phone, a nondescript male voice asked for mister Winter. I said he was out and asked if the caller cared to leave a message. The nondescript male voice gave a name and said he was calling from Factory Casket Wholesalers. He understood a need had arisen in mister Winter’s household.
Shock and Awe
we the implicatedwe the intricatedwe the strand andbolt of fabricwoven tight likemother’s love andscreaming child we the wound andtightly boundembrace of love withlegs wrapped roundstab of hate frombrutal poundboth can occupy asingle space we the medianthe mean and limit casewe the x ofour equationnever puzzled tosolutionpoised across theequals sign isyou and you and you andso…
Story: The Beetles
The cop motions me over to the curb in front of number twenty-two. He’s a funny-looking creature in a Kevlar shell whose precise movements give the impression he’s still doing drills at the police academy. He skitters to the car as I roll down the window.
Story: The Book
It’s a beautiful summer’s day, so I go to the park with a book tucked under my arm. There’s a mature shade tree—a willow—standing near a bend in the creek. Its branches arch high overhead in a broad canopy and their ends swing low, almost sweeping the ground.
Poem: Unmoved
The ceiling fan above doesn’t turn.It waits on a switch that never trips.The snow outside sits cold and white.It waits on a sun that never shines.The world is a head with empty socketsspinning itself into nothing and nothingstirs me as I lie on my bed and see howthe ceiling fan above doesn’t turn. The laminated…
Story: The Green Capsule
They give me a green capsule and tell me it contains a radioactive isotope. I swallow it and wait in the reception area until they call my name and lead me to a special room. They leave me alone to put on a gown.
Poem: The Colour-Dappled Lie
Do you wonder what I donow I’m gone away from you?Do you imagine how I livewith the freedom that you give?Do you stand alone and gazeat the brightly whorled hazefrom my spackled palette knifethat paints a lustrous life?Or do you look with clearer eyepast the colour-dappled lieto the worn concrete greysof my empty days?Or do…
Poem: Do Not Speak
Do not speakI cannot listenDo not beckonI cannot watchDo not summonI cannot answerDo not railI cannot wince I want only tocurl myself on the floorand feel my ribspressed to the tiles.I wish I had their hardness.I wish I was ceramic.
Poem: The Pike
The thing about a pikethat makes it doubly cruelis the way its shaft can swaywhen it’s blown by ridicule. You ram a path from grointo top of shattered peak.You start a bloody chatterbetween organs that couldn’t speak. The rage that brought us herebegan in our desire.It was you atop the poleand I who thrust you…
Poem: Shitting Whitman
My standard poodle ate Walt Whitman(Leaves of Grass in ropey coils on the lawn)I stoop and wrap my fingers aroundwarm Song-Of-My-Self turds.She winces at the stanzathat she squeezes from her anus.Do I constipate myself?Very well thenI constipate myself.I am large.I contain multitudes.And I wonder if Whitmanhad to work so hardto get his words outin the…
Poem: Columbines
columbines betray last year’s scattering of seedby straying from the well-kept bed andspringing unruly from the lawni want to tear them out andbring order to my jealous yard maybe i should collect crystals andarrange them neatly on a shelf butthe suggestion prompts your laughterbursting through the spring air the columbines are beautiful withdowncast gaze and…
Poem: The Seventh Commandment
sometimes we desire what we cannot havebut unable to extinguish the desirewe fan ourselves into a roaring flame and so we rageand we flarebut consume nothing from thisgod utters forththe usual useless shit thenobedience comesnot from lovebut from its failure we draw on god’s teatlike sucklings on an ashen nub
Beyond the Golden Rule
How could we have been so insightful as to articulate a universal ethic that has stood without revision for more than 2000 years, and yet have failed so miserably when articulating a reasonable theology? Or is it possible that the Golden Rule doesn’t stand on such a sure footing after all?
Ecclesiology of Friendship – Update
This is a followup to my earlier post regarding the CDF’s (Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith’s) announcement that the Roman Catholic Church is the one true church.