Tag Archives: religion

Reign XV

It was always two minutes to midnight
In our world, this green valley turned metal.
The promises broke like glass, bright and sharp,
Each point of light another jagged edge.
Leopard print and sequins aren’t Tyrian,
But in your hands, they are greater than gold
(The shame was never in going naked,
Only in blindly insisting you weren’t.)
“No gods, no masters, every man a king.”
We preached our creed with every breath we took,
Every night spent beating back entropy.
The world was ending, but we were dancing.
With pen and ink, blood and bone, I proclaim
The coronation of King No Future.


Reign X

We preached our creed with every breath we took,
So how’s that for a bold, subversive style?
We wear suits with that assassin look,
Dress like a princess but not a damsel
Distressed. We inscribe our skin with ink and
Metal like every body’s a book of
Blood, like by living we’re making art hand-
In-hand, like acts of rebellion are love.
We preach with the certainty of zealots,
Confident that we know the future, know
How to plot a moral arc, develop
A better world, put on a better show.
We moved our bodies like a symphony,
Every night spent beating back entropy.

Reign IX

“No gods. No masters. Every man a king.”
How’s that for a nice creed, a glory be,
An invitation to keep your fucking
Hands off other people’s shit and just leave
Well enough alone? Do you really think
Your god has called you to not let bodies
Be bawdy, to forge the chains that will link
Us together in oppression? Bitch, please.
Christ would never consent to this charade,
To rule by Keebler elves and slovenly
Con men, money changers who would parade
Their wealth and demand more. You’ll never see
What it really means to be of the book.
(We preached our creed with every breath we took.)

Reign VII

The shame was never in going naked,
In stalking the streets like an animal
Seeking shelter in all the right places
(Bumping bars, smoky backyards, cannibal
Churches where blood is drunk and flesh consumed,
Where eager adherents display their sins
In holy communion in darkened rooms.)
The shame was in shedding animal skin,
In trading butterfly for chrysalis,
Chrysalis for worm, in sitting up and
Begging greedy con men to christen us,
In learning to eat from a begloved hand.
Finally, it wasn’t in being turned;
Only in blindly insisting you weren’t


She glided in ethereal
A mixture of Memory
(You look like) Wheat
(You sound like) Music
(You smell like) Rose

But Memory never smelled like Rose
Rose smelled like something earlier
Soap amongst steel
Milk and honey in the desert
Sackcloth and ashes
A head shorn of sorrow
Rose smelled like something new
As surely as it smelled like something old

(Your scent is alive)
(You are no ghost)
(You were never never there)

Black Bloc

The night the city burned, I sat on your floor listening like a child as you told me our god must be Janus. A face for authority, for the frightened middle, and another for casting stones, for cleansing the temple. I’ve tried to learn the tenets of this new faith, but I am no Martin Luther, no prophet of peace. When I march, I march in black, a mourning hawk dressed in the fatigues of protest: hood marking me an adherent of the old ways, mask to keep out miasma, gloves so as not to leave a trace of my touch. My creed has only two lines: Fight for those who won’t raise their fists, work towards a world that does not need you.

Theophory, Babel (2016)

I haven’t had time to write a new post, unfortunately. I’ve been revising some of my older work to submit to a couple different places. Are they improved? I think so, but who can objectively appraise their own work. Anyway, links to the originals are below and the new drafts are below those. Enjoy!


Flax hair and lapis eyes

I created you


You, my beautiful heterodoxy

You, my graven image

You, my one who is like God


I ate of your body

Drank of your blood


I built a coffee shop altar

Where I could kneel before

Your laugh, your smile

Where I could make myself believe


(That I did not

Do it backwards

That I did not, in my apostasy,

Create a goddess to save me

Instead of finding one to believe in)



Do you remember the language we spoke then?

A wild tongue, squeaks and growls and moans,

A language of the body, muscles vibrating like taut strings.

We held each other and we trembled

At what we had built


Soft promises piled up to reach the sky,

Towers topped with choirs,

Mouths singing syllables of love and praise

To spite the whole world, singing so even

Angels would have to say,


This is not right. This is not allowed at all.

%d bloggers like this: