To Scream at the Moon

When I first held you,

a warm and glowing bundle you were.

Newly taken from your mother.

Red.

Slimy.

You said not a word.

I knew then how God must have felt,

and the beast and the tree

and the mountain and the water

and all the angels, and Satan too,

all of them, all those many years ago,

standing silent in the sweaty still cave,

waiting for a Son to scream at the moon.

Nowhere Near the Sea

On that day that God came to him,

I can see Noah sitting under a tree,

eating a sandwich,

lettuce hanging out of his mouth.

Yes, lettuce and crumbs on the belly and he startled.

Round-bellied Noah,

six hundred years old and talking to God,

mouth full of sandwich and lettuce,

no water on hand;

I wish I was there.

Thinking God crazy,

and himself,

he decided to build the big boat anyway,

do what God said,

even having never seen rain in his six hundred years

nor the sea.

I do wonder what his friends said of him,

and his family,

with such a story.

After it was over,

his friends were dead.

Maybe their ridicule was left in his ears,

maybe.

Its those kind of I told you so moments that are really bitter,

them all being dead,

though I wouldn’t know.

When all was dry,

and the beasts gone their own ways,

Noah got drunk,

woke up hungover and

cursed a son for clothing him in the night.

Out of the son’s apparent rashness, American chattel slavery.

This is many years later though.

The crazy part to me is still the boat,

not the slaves.

This big boat built in the middle of a dry land,

and the builder, having never seen rain.

This is the third rule of business, son:

build the damn boat,

even if you think God is crazy.

The Way of Commoners

Its been two weeks since I’ve written

and even though I’m waiting to board a plane to Portland,

some place I’ve never been,

all I can think about is going home,

where I can be alone,

to write and think and breathe,

for I haven’t written in two weeks.

Did I already say this?

Yes.

Yes I did.

She asked me if I was lonely,

I said, it goes without saying

she then asked if I was okay with that

and I said yes, I’ve learned to be okay with it.

Being lonely is a matter of perception afterall.

I am most lonely when I am in Texas,

around friends and family and the stress of duty

and the pagan-rich holidays.

In those two weeks of December,

it is the loneliest for everyone.

We all know this.

Especially the commoners.

So anyway, I’m going to Portland for New Year’s.

It’ll be rainy and cold and I will drink a lot of coffee

and beer and watch a different kind of American.

I’m sure we’ll dress up too, and cheer

and get terribly drunk on the night of the 31st,

kiss strangers and be hopeful about 2010.

2010 will one of the worst years this world has ever seen,

if you are commoner, that is.

If you are not a commoner,

this will be a great year,

as all the other years have been,

up to this point.

We will get drunk and kiss and cheer,

and make glory of our ignorance, of our commonness,

having no idea who we are cheering for and why.

Such is the way of commoners,

such is our way,

we who are drunk with conventions,

solace,

and the perception of peace.