You never know exactly when you’ll take confession
Daniel Barnes
If only I had that name, so easy,
Dan Barnes they remember Danny and
He wouldn’t challenge them, their beliefs, but rather camouflage into the
Violent everafter of America
I look over his shoulder at his boarding pass again and see his middle name
Lock Stock and barrel
A bullet of American pride
No I’m not saying it
You never know exactly when you’ll take confession
When the membrane holding another’s thoughts might scratch across the surface of your face
And burst like an aquarium
Thoughts stillborn into the poison air flip flopping about
And leave you wading in their tears to the knees
There must be someone better to hear this?
We are called not when we are ready but when He is
But talk is just talk and actions are ridiculous
Until a flood breaks to a vacuum
Tell me this sun isn’t the West
Tell me how and when we shape the shadows to tell the stories we want to tell
The successes at the end, when the fire pops it’s teeth at the night, sawing in the wind, and we sing to forget and vibrate the wine in our veins
Alighting angels in the dark
How do those stories actually go?
I’m listening, go on
The dream I had still holds me
The subconscious so strong it moves without words
The language we gender and veneer our lives with is but 70000 years old
Our brain stems, the fleshed pulp that roots out to the void, to the divine, endlessly conceived and re-conceived, have been moving us for millions upon millions of years
Without a word
In a dream I see my tea cup, glass demitasse, unravel and spiral in a circle, like it must have been blown and hewn but it peels like an orange
And I wake
With no explanation
Just thrown west to the work that paints the shadows of victory
Just to the lonely travelers who need to speak to hear that their voice still works and the pain they carry has not corroded their heart beyond holding all love
The air is thin and processed and the overhead crackles to call the absent travelers to board
Maybe it’s time to go home