Your heart never told me goodbye
Tho your hands waved frantically in the wind,
shooing me away.
I choose to wait for the boss to return;
the one who understands the pain,
because a heart would not lie just to get ahead…..
and I know who to believe.

It’s crazy….
but the eyes are the windows of the soul….
and inside,
everybody is waiting for payday.



If Jesus stood alone in a field of green
would I recognize him?

If I recognized him
would I get close enough to smell his sweat
and feel him tremble?

If I got close enough to smell his earthy body
would I kiss his lips?

If I kissed his lips would I take his pain?

If I accepted his pain, would my heart find wings?

If my heart found wings, would I dance?

or would I turn away
looking for the perfect one
who doesn’t stink?



for every good and wonderful thing
that has ever come through my door
there has been an equally tragic
and ugly something or other
that kept the scales of experience in balance,
nothing swept under the rug;
no doors closed in this house…..
What is the ultimate reality
of living in this naked truth?
I don’t know……
I don’t know……
I don’t know……
but IT IS

dirty god


On Main Street of the town I grew up in,
every Saturday morning
men would come
and preach about their clean god
that brought light
and salvation from
the filth that we were living in

That was not the god that came to me

I found my god, a dirty god,
in the clean face of Tina Grover
and later
through my broken and hungry heart.



days fade into nights of dreaming
and dreams into years of longing

a madwoman becomes a sage
when she babbles about love
but let her vomit in the evening
and we wake up
wondering why we have been so foolish

again, the day fades
and we are reborn from the womb
of a drunken madwoman

make no mistake
I love in living to hold the peace
between birth and death…
night and day;
reason and imagination;

that holy paradox



It used to be
when the beloved
was out
each creature that moved
could not help but dance
an enchanted mudra
and each spoken word
was divine symphony.

Now that boat
damaged by the rocks
sits empty,
bright paint and clever name
washed away;
small fragments of chassis
given over wave by wave
until there is nothing,
No thing.

beyond the rocks and thrashing waves;
a songbird courts the darkness;
the heart of formless night,



just moaning for love and peaceful days
but nothing comes for very long;
a brief visit by a cloudless sky,
the sun pokes through,
then again,…… waiting.

Seems my friend has satisfaction for breakfast each morning
but though my porch light is lit,
the screens let in the breeze in, and
my face through the peephole says “welcome”,
there is no knock upon my door;
the evening has only memories for me.

Emptiness is HERE
is shouted from every street corner
but I am always
too late;
by the time I arrive
the silent one has moved on.

Is this a joke?
Should I be laughing?  
Why do you keep me dangling, lover?
Fill me up, or let me go back
to my garage of dreamy despair.

An owl died in my yard last week while
Love Lies Bleeding was blooming;
The scent of cherry blossoms
fills my street with desire;
my senses take it all in, but
where is the sense
to receive what my mojo says
is closer than my skin?



out on the gentle prairie
sycamore and red-tailed hawk
between twilight and dawn
dreaming dancing wild rose
listening heart
rolling field of Queen Anne’s lace and bluegrass
white pine and
water cress wandering
food and fire burning warm
loving delicious
waiting and
walking in the dark
breathing in
only love
breathing out
only love
the heartbeat of the night
creation that
I Love You
in my ear
and my heart
into billions of suns



evangelical pie in the sky
is closer than some clever doctrine;
i’ll have one piece, please…..
blueberry with ice cream.

it’s spiritually correct to feel sexy AND be holy;
close the gap……
there is no contradiction in tantra;
the dancing and singing
is the connection
as much as anything else….
moving you closer to the source
of all movement;
wait in your intellectual
lookin’ like a
“got it all figured out now” observer saint stance,
and the fire grows cool;
the heat moves on to find
someone more interesting to dance with.

with or without a partner
sin is the distance between passion
and what you do, so
sing out;




love madly;

the universe waits for your example, and
you’ll understand why,




If I could reach into the flower of my heart
take hold of the essence that lies dormant;
offer it to you in this dark hour
and live with you in its sweet divine sunshine,
I would so but and yet wherefore

as wishing beggars would ride
I shall abide (ahem)
in the shadow of that impotent wish
and stand
a beggar
while I (whatever THAT is)
is consumed
by the awkward ignorance of pride
to which
so uncomfortably

forgive me
I am but a mechanic
in this poorly lit garage
and at the present time
everything is