Even though the martyrs shoo him
for he doesn’t like to martyr right
he is tremendous. He does not flex
or take his punishment so easily.
He does not bend, he does not waiver.
His death comes at the cost of
most of those that would kill him,
but he get’s the job done, all things
considered. He is tremendous, and
there’s not much anyone can do.

the most vivid recollection
was in line for the drinking fountain
(we lived in a desert after all)
i was all of 14

you punched because i was white
pounded my back and just like
every day it was a fight to keep
from falling to tears at the constant
abuse
over my skin color
over my smile

and i learned
“revenge is the Lord’s”
and i prayed
“Lord I accept because your
wrath is bigger than my fist”

oppression on ever corner
next to every locker
every shoulder bump and push
i’m american and clearly i do not
belong. meaning this is your
leg room not mine

over my skin color
over my smile

and i prayed
“revenge Lord
revenge”

because i knew first your
arms as they held me at nights
and i fought over whether you
were truly worth it, or even truly were.

because i knew your arms of love
long before i knew your grace

i prayed
“revenge Lord
take your fiery eternal
damning revenge”

forgetting the grace that saved me
was no more deserved than theirs.

because i knew first your arms
before i understood that i first knew
your grace

For how is one
(After already taking an extra-long stride
To reach the door ahead of her)
To then, after opening and holding the first door
Allowing her to enter
Where she is only barred by yet another door
To which one is incapable of arriving before her
(To open the second of course)
Leaving two options:
The first of which
Would be to accept that she’ll have to open
The second door herself
Or instead push past her
Practically knocking her over
(I can vouch)
To then awkwardly grasp the second door
And eliminate all possibility
Of potential “smoothness”
And at which point usher her
Inside and covertly grimace
Wondering how to avoid, at all costs,
A similar situation on the way out

slowly
ohsoslowly
do the pages turn themselves around
I shudder
do I shudder
at the sounds, the wretched sounds, and as
I mutter
under breaths of mine
my thoughts all racing wildly
I wonder
yes I wonder
how you’ll ever make it out of town

we forgot we were in a battle so
instead of fighting against the advances
of the enemy

we cowered the corner
forgetting we were cowering
settling for complacency
all the while

the battle rages for that which
outlasts this generation this
technology
these nations
these civilizations

the battle rages over
eternity

yours and mine

and hello to the tens
(and what will soon be the teens)
in typical fashion

asleep. unaware. careless.
as though i myself

had dropped the ball

your father died abruptly
(as though death
-though inevitable-
is ever expected)
and you’re stuck wondering floundering
in debt up to your ears
supporting the woman
you never dreamed about

oh and your mother

Your religion doesn’t
keep you warm at night.

Not unless you worship
the God Forsaken dollar
that pays the man that
pipes the gas that heats
your modest dwelling.

Damned if you do though,
I suppose.

Where are you going?
Revolutions per second propel
You past in a blue blur.
Where have you gone?
This world without speed limits
Has spun you beyond recognition.

A thousand miles out there lies
a cavern so I’ve heard, and in
it’s depths is held the truest
of the powers of the world, with
all the snapping grips upon it,
all the reaching souls deranged,
there’s not a finger, paw or feather
that can touch the thing unsinged

I’ll be following my father, for it,
tracking all his steps, and if
the trail goes cold I’ll just have
to find the way myself, with
the eloquence of danger
and my snarling steel unfurled
I’ll be gripping soon, the very
truest power of the world

watch closely:
you don’t know what
you think you know.

they may have had one thing right
we don’t get there through
having

You and I will live,
just long enough to atone
for the crimes we have committed

We will be forced to
rise with the full strengths
which are requisite to be human

And when we fall, I
will probably go with Dylan
on my lips.

I never was big on Dylan
but I just have a feeling.
And things change,
you know?

i spend my life
grasping for dreams
just within my reach
fearing for all my
wits they’ll slip and leave
me out on the streets

Sometimes
there’s a reason
that the road
less traveled
was

practicing standing up before the
alarm goes off
tying, untying shoes
placing coat in correct position
arriving to practice 20 minutes
early to get the proper motiv
ation and the proper preper
ation so when the coach says
“KLINGER, YOUR IN!”
i will not,
not,
not,
not,
not,
fumble the ball like a fresh
man,
or sophomore.

hitting the field with extra
grass in my teeth,
even if i get that touchdown,
i must not waver.
do you think atlas wavers?
do you think a coach would
bench atlas?
or hercules?
or klinger?

I was just thinking
today
how we used to be
people
to eachother.

I don’t know where the
offense
was rendered, but
somehow
that’s all it took, and

I’d love to fix things
but
there’s no use
calling
a phone that’s off the
hook
all the time

I remember
days
when we’d be
more
than just people
to
each other, but
now
I find other
numbers
to dial

with each stride
your heart’s pounding ten times in between
your feet are numb
and the only way you know there’s
ground beneath them is cause
you don’t fall over
the air squeezes your chest like a vice
nostrils constrict
and you wonder how with a subzero chill
your lungs could still burn like napalm
curse, heave, spit
with insides about to burst
and the dull thuds of worn out sneakers
keeping strained
but steady rhythm to the pavement
to the swish of dead grass
on the frozen ground

last lap
ice stings your eyes like sand
wind searing frostbitten ears
one more block to go
one last thrust to drive out the damage
collapse, catch breath,
renew