A New Work

It’s just one of those things that to do one thing well can take far longer than you thought. You just have to commit to maybe only getting three things done by twelve when your modern tick list mentality that would have preferred six or seven says, I can’t believe this is all that’s happened.

            And I’m not really writing an article today. There is not quite the time or the desire for that. I will be posting poems for a while because I remember that one streak of 1734 is that of good works in the world, of the Work being done through simple common sense and action, doing what we can do. And this work is not simply Christian martyrdom or white guilt. The doing of the work makes us grow too. I had stopped writing poems, and then I got a letter from a friend in prison saying he needed them, and so here I am, writing them again, every day, and here are some of them. This is the form the work has taken recently.

b a p t i s m

there you are stretched out nude in Chicago
the city where you became a man
where I found myself after I’d lost myself again
by the water called mishigami
they say the same means “great water”
the water is our home
why
even in the middle of things we are alone
even with all these bodies
we are not home
step into the water
all waters are the water
baptize yourself again
if not the lake
the shower
let what is gone drain
you are not home until
you find your home in what remains
all of are made in God’s image
all of us are loved
and you are what remains

l o n g i n g

the infinite angel all a burning column of fire
appeared to me in my lust and demanded my desire
and it was hot and dry as June, humid and thick as July
a sigh
of fire I said, “If I would have you home,
if we could all be home, if the end we long for could
be right now, and if beginning again was true beginning—
that is my desire

and if you were here, instead of there
I would take you in my arms
and feel every inch of you
and I would take you in my mouth
every inch of you
and suck away your sorrow
and be flooded with your fire



m a k i n g    l o v e   a t   5 a. m.

memory will save your soul
or memory will drive you crazy
don’t be the one who says you’ll never do this
do that
i remember doing you
that morning
5:30
and your slim boyfriend
boys in shades and shyness
riding over Michigan to me
before 6 am

two beautiful bodies on my one bed
from you to him and back again
the warmth of your brown body
the touch of your friendly kiss
the entry of your need, our need
our experiment
fucking
you inside me
black body,
brown body
white body

all of us want to be somebody,
all of us wanted to be loved
all of us are dust and ashes, we all want to be loved
all of are made in God’s image
all of us are loved


m i c h i g a n c i t y

Because I wanted the beach I went to Michigan City
Because I had only passed it on the train,
I went to Michigan City
Because I could not afford Chicago I went to Michigan City

I walked one half hour up a desolate pine street when I got to Michigan City
I reached the shore guarded by a blood red ram
And then lay down in front of the mother water and
she spoke peace to me
I baptized myself in sand and water and rose to leave

It was hot as fuck that day

I cannot get out of my mind, your used up houses
and crumpled cigarette carton ways
that are my ways too,
the shitty city is our city
the shit is our home
this is how gardens are grown

All of us want to be somebody,
all of us wanted to be loved
All of us are dust and ashes, we all want to be loved
All of are made in God’s image
All of us are loved

Sitting in a vacant train station in this desolate city
I was joined by man with nothing to do but a beer and a cigarette,
then
one high on heroin
just out of the pen
then one last friend, sleeping in his family’s yard

Luxury hides what poverty reveals
Every city is Michigan city
In America we leave wounds unhealed
All the world is Michigan city



g o s p e l

i wanted to live in the Gospel
I wanted to live the story of jesus, movies, passion plays, unpeeling the onion thin pages of the bible, all you know, in order to go to something new and rare and there, I looked for the lord jesus, in the spring of the year,
starving I looked for the Gospel. In abbeys, in stain glass,
in tear felt lessons, in the wiping of oil with her hair
But the gospel is here.
I am
I am
I am
And I am not sorry
Not for that.
I have heard the hymns of repentance
Sorry for making you bleed
I’m sorry they tried to make me believe I killed you
Repentance is turning around
Repentance is touching the ground of being
The trial reports say remorse is no sign a crime will not be repeated
But still we beat our breast to a man on a tree
O, it was me who did it
But I didn’t

What must relent
Is the way we repent
The lie of guilt impedes the true return


w i s d o m

You wrote me for words of wisdom
But all I have is this
You wanted something wise, maybe happy
But all I have is poverty
Maybe this is what wisdom is
Stripping of bullshit every day
To get to the grain
To find what remains
What remains is you

You are the house of God
There is no other
You are his habitation
Make of your loss and longing a home
For Him
Keep your fires lit
Kindle his spirit that he might kindle yours

All of us want to be somebody, all of us wanted to be loved
All of us are dust and ashes, we all want to be loved
All of are made in God’s image
All of us are loved