Aliens Among Us

no need
to reach

some far-
flung star

to see
the sites

on venus
or mars

to un-
maybe

the mights
to dis-

cover
the heights

to seize
the halos

of un-
manned flight

we just call ’im dovie ’cause he bristles at lovie

entranced with enough
english
dovie’s cue ball’ll walk

duly to the new
striking
place and the waiting

cue: already scuffed
and chaulked
and armed with powder

blue kisses

Volatile Bob

My heart is
pure ― rubbing

alcohol
better keep

dragging those
grounding chains

My head is
Everclear

nearly two-hundred proof
better stop

playing with
those matches

My hurt is
nitro ― so

better not
bump me so

hard with that
dreamt about body body body

Three Things

There are three
sleeps that can
stop our mouths
their speaking:

the Big Sleep
(which plugs all
things), the Nighty-
Night (if night-

mare free),
and the Sleep
of Kiss (which
bungs our tongues,

possums our
peepers, and
relegates our
breathing).

OneMan’s Pack Rat is another OldLady’s Boy Scout

Because he might need
a Black Toad bottle
cap crimped at one hun-
             dred twenty degrees,
he can’t discard it,
but keeps one of six

Maybe a lady
will seek safe passage
across frozen tun-
             dra through a hoard of
malevolent Huns
and that cap might be

the only weapon
or useful disguise
(you know, used to scratch
             or worn as a patch)
that is small enough
to smuggle or that

we’re able to hide
until we most need
it ― as I replay
             it ― at the last minute
So, I can’t blindly
just throw it away

Note to Self: The Bottom

Here’s the bottom
line: is your poem

of such robust
spine and buxom

embrace of such
tonic balm such

bouquet and taste
of such sonic

boom exquisite
menu and coo

that it might coax
despairing toes

off of spotlit
ledges or bowed-

down heads away
from unlit stoves?

Sermon :: Matthew 6:34

                 i.
BETTER let tomorrow
let tomorrow
let tomorrow

better let it take care
let it take care
care of itself.

Listen little children ―
Would I? Would you?
Would this one here?

Would we pull the covers
of tomorrow
onto our beds?

And then the day after
that? and then next
week? and next month?

All piled up. All at once.
― Y’all go on and
talk to me now ―

As if we had ’em all.
All the linen.
All the bedclothes

of a five-star hotel.
And so piled up ―
stacked up ― ceiling-

high? Wouldn’t we smother
beneath the weight
and heat of them –

tossing ourselves into
our very own
fiery furnace.

Today is hot enough.
Heavy enough.
Trouble enough.

                ii.
WE’D be pinned flat down like
a butterfly
under a stack ―

a big stack of flapjacks.
That butterfly
might melt but

it’s not getting much sleep.
Y’all hearing me?
Be still my soul?

I really don’t think so.
That’s not stillness
of our sweet souls

my brothers and sisters.
We can be still.
We can be still.

Because He wasn’t still.
Jesus came down.
All the way down.

Some of you have heard this
before. Way down.
To Mary’s womb.

Hand-him-down swaddling clothes.
Pretty flimsy.
Like the lily.

Y’all got me distracted.
So where was I?
Be still. Our souls.

We might be really still.
But really grim.
And beaten down.

Our typical tossing
and turning might
stop. That’s for sure.

                 iii.
BUT Jesus gives us rest.
For the weary.
But not pinned down.

My Jesus was pinned down.
So we don’t need
to be pinned down.

The biggest deed is done.
All the way done.
So we can rest.

So we can sleep under
the light light sheet
of just today ―

not that weigh-me-down shroud
of days and weeks
and months and years.

There is a seven-star
hotel. We need
to go sleep there.

And you can’t afford it.
But it’s all free.
All the way paid.

Jesus says sleep under
His cool covers –
It is finished.

His pollen soft, but warm.
Diaphanous.
Lily linen.

And ev’ry. Body. Said.
Amen. Amen.
Sister Betty,

come on up and lead us:
Come Ye Sinners,
Poor and Needy.

Planting Beans

propping the shovel hoe and rake
spooling out twine plunging the stakes
kneeling dimpling the harrowed plot
thumbing simple tombs in the pocks
releasing the pink dusted bombs
dozing over dirt with a palm

a display of faith this arming
counting on another rising
their pearl green necks rolling
their respective stones exploding
revealing in each yawning
seed applauding

a leaf a tongue
the dumb report