viewingcamelot

I suppose you can’t hold the table.

When I was young
the clinking glasses and silver
were diamonds tinkling
against my new skin-
Learning to stretch, to dance, to leap-
always learning how
to use this new thing that is me.
My hair, the dense forest,
cascaded in waves down
gaunt hillsides-
That hour is passed.
Thinning now, and dry
it cracks like desert mud
forgets where the river ran.
My traintrack spine
missing sleepers and spikes
with sleeplessness for thinning ballast-
The years pass like train cars,
in blinks:
a job, —
an apartment, —
a relationship, —
I inhale fast
and glance furiously at my watch.
Oh, good.
There’s still time.

I head out to meet my reservation
into the tangled mass
of furling boulevards and back-alleys,
Streets twisting and contorting,
obscuring their corners
I step deliberately
like Jack climbing
a multitude of woven stalks
looking for his one giant.
I find directional flow,
and passive valves,
and hawkers on corners,
Backstreet tyrants
with hands like freshly-sawn ham-hocks
And my table is around any corner,
Every corner,
and none.
No one understands me
as I plead for directions
I scrutinize signs
printed on walls and billboards,
spray-painted in dark corners,
signs written in the skies.
I glance at my watch.
I thump its face
a poor attempt to change its mind.
The hours thin
like the light around me
I begin to grieve:
my time is almost up.

Will they hold it for me?

I stumble now, sober
But footless like some
career drunkard
waltzing with the ghosts
he drinks to avoid

Who invited me?
I can’t remember.

Who told me there was a table,
And I could have a seat at it?
Who told me I could bring something
to the Great Conversation,
Or make some meaningful connection
Past ham-salad sandwiches
and the exchange of goods and services?

I finger through the scratched phonographs of yesterdays
Back to the beginning,
But I can’t find the song or album I’m looking for,
not in this light.

It’s okay- it can wait.
There’ll be light enough at my table.
It must be around here.
I must be close by now,
I’ve come so far….

Since I got to this place, it’s been loud
Everyone yelling at me what I must do,
But it isn’t about them;
It’s about You.
They don’t understand me,
And when I take their word
I forget who I am
Lost in the implied and inferred
But by Your word alone
I live, I love, I have my being
My gifts are worthless to them,
But in You, they are freeing.
I don’t know what home I have.
I can’t speak the language of this land,
But if I can love the least of these-
Carry me. Put us hand in hand.
Let the world know, weak as I am,
I serve the God of might-
You are the Mover- we the moved-
Number our days aright.

Linguistically wringing out again
The stale water pooled within
Time, and tired bones asleep
Let the tigers from their keep
But the redeye carries shuteye
And rest restores the great enterprise:

Life, awoken

I wept
That girl I can’t remember being
Wept and begged
To belong in Your world, fleeing
Her own world on broken legs
And there was

No room at the Inn for me either,
So I wandered…
And You came along
All those years squandered
Waiting for some invitation, wronged
By all

My own assumptions.
Lone travels, and smokes, and nights
Staring down the stars, asking You
Why I survived, what right
Had I to starry views
And how could I get closer

To You.
I’ve lived all these days sleeping
On the outskirts, an outsider,
And I stopped weeping.
I can’t wedge a divider,
Or reshape what’s been formed

By wild rains,
City lights and uncut earth,
The river’s edge groaning
Swelling, giving birth
To neon coffee foaming
Some lonely guitar

Plucking my allegiance.
I belong first to You,
And then to the lost ones,
Between the floorboards, through
The cracks in the functions
Of societies and proprieties

And families.
But how can I build the bricks,
Mix the mortar, lay the grout,
Building the walls thick
That kept us out
In the cold

Because we bled all wrong
Because we didn’t cower at the knuckles of honesty
And every world is Yours.

I’m the one
The lost and left behind one,
Nipped at by the pack
Straggling in the back,
Struggling against demise
Looking up to realize
I’m the one lost and left behind-

The one He seeks and finds.

Always a worn down gear:
The cogs grind-
Their teeth chatter
Missing each other
Falling behind

On the edge of a steep slope,
And those in arms’ reach
Wait to see what I do at the summit-
Soar, or more likely plummet-
Debris scattered along the beach.

Palms in the air, Pilate’s hands washed clean,
No one is responsible for the other:
Push on, push on, push farther in-
Never slow down, never stop again-
No keeper keeps his brother.

We throw our alms at each other,
But we’ve forgotten how to invest:
To rest together, to break bread,
To struggle in-arm, to bury the dead,
To pick each other up, breast to breast

We don’t wear each other’s mud.
We don’t bear each other’s load.
We cheer, we goad, we disappear
Somewhere along the road.

You have been tender with me.
How gently You've tended
               to every moment

I cannot deserve Your love
            but You dote on me,
                  don't You?

I'm in love with You,
and I love You


      Firm-

           like all the earth
           I have ever walked

      Expansive-

         like the vast ocean
        of every drop of grace

      Ancient-

    like the winding timeline
  along the length of humanity

             the timeline
     You wrote in detail
     You wrote into me
     You traced to get to me

And I am a new thing.
I am Your secret bold one.
And You are my love.

I long to stand by the sea-
The great, gentle creature
Breathing in time, in tides,
Relentlessly patient.
Her foam churns, yearning-
Abandoned in winter
Like all the rest.

Suddenly Sleepless

Exposed and the past
Beats open my door
The dead of the night move fast
Ever hungry for more
Their voices unaltered
As they invade again
And if I falter
I will fall, unsaved again

From violent intent.

I spoke in frustration,
Squeezing, wrenching grief
Desperation and demands-
My shaking hands
Ready to shake you awake
With equal fear and violence,
So I spoke, then stilled
And yielded to the silence
Of falling memories,
Unfaded through the seasons
Before betrayal, before the treasons,
You doted on me-
A soft pillow beneath the headache-
Younger than you ever were,
Or would ever be again
and framed in kindness.
Those days drift to earth
Further forward
When I knew a call was coming
And unending trouble alongside
Trembling I whispered to you my fear,
And in great, bold strides
You shook your red cape;
The bull hissed, snorted, and veered-
I escaped.
So delicate these memories
Drifting through my day
Your brush mid-stroke,
Your melodic croon-
You learned the art of war
Too soon to stay a boy
Trading toys for the accoutrements
Of a young man marching onward
Gently these memories
Drop softly down,
Like tears on the tabletop,
Or petals to ground-
And the mightiest of all these
Is that night
He pushed his way
Into our best life
Onto my skin
Every surface broken again
Paralyzed and jagged
And you pressed until I spoke
Five vague words
Then you packed up my most valuables
Driving into the darkest night
To spare me my own.
I owe you so much-
I never whitewashed that ledger.

My grief dredges my debt,
Weighing it against your need
Everything I have left
Might help the boy trapped
Inside the hardened shell
Of the man who marched through hell,
But the tools are weapons
In his angry hands.

These petals gently fall-
I can’t rebuild the rose,
But I know Who can.
Come home again-
Though no home exists-
Come home again
Don’t resist forgiveness,
Repentance, hope,
Faith, and the greatest:
Love.