Shadow Footsteps (a poem)

Underneath the cold, hard ground
I found the key to my soul
And I praised the gods of winter
Who enjoy the dead trees
And fallen leaves that rustle
Like shadow footsteps

In dark nights of lore
The high priests were astounded
By the teenage Jesus
No one believed us
When we saw him heal the blind men
In the sticky subway station

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Burn it Down (a poem)

I want to burn it all down
I’m not proud of it
But I must admit
I’m drawn to the destruction
Like a moth to a flame

The death-instinct deep inside
Driving down the highway
Passing the car crash
And turning my head
To see if anyone’s dead

It’s deplorable – this overwhelming urge
And I notice how it surges
And it’s like a scourge
The self-sabotage and the purge
That puts us on the verge
Of tearing everything down

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The Passion (a haiku)

On the cross, Jesus

cried to his Father, and then

the universe shook

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