America #2
Last night, I read this article in the New York Times about Walter Scott. Scott, a 50 year old black man in South Carolina, was shot in the back by a police officer who claimed Scott had taken his stun...
View ArticleThe Diagnoses
For my friend John, and my many other friends–namely, you. ***** The Diagnoses Asthmatic, inattentive, shcizotypic, bipolar Baptist, disruptive, obssive, compulsive Papist, malignant, maligering,...
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To My Sons #2
Yesterday, Sarah Bessey shared about the importance of poetry (and by extension, frivolity). Through the work of Wendell Berry, she reminded us that we should daily “do something that won’t compute.”...
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Boy Again
My family took a much needed vacation to the Gulf last week. It was fantastic (and accounts for my silence), and this week I’m sharing bits and pieces of it with you. I’ll write very little, and am...
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Grandma’s Passing
My grandmother slipped behind the veil last week. Slow, groggy, feeling a little too tired, she laid down for a ten-minute nap and woke in eternity. My parents said she went with a smile on her face....
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Poetry Contest Loser (And 2 Poems)
The Poetry of Losing. Poetry contests entice. Half-narcissistic humans stumble upon internet ads looking for a few good poets, said ads promising publication, glory, a place among the mighty men of...
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Remembering Sunrise (For Grandpa, Who is Gone)
“Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.” ~Leonardo da Vinci Last week I slipped on a pair of flip-flops and walked into the dawn. The...
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7 Things to Tell Your Sons About Anxiety
1. Twenty-some-odd of us sat in the living room on plush chairs, recliners, and an elegant sectional. Conversations among friends began to have the feel of a twelve step meeting, what with everyone...
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For John
For John* The windows of the world are milked over with the handprints of small men’s delights, of jelly, peanut butter, religion, government, money, misery, desire, whatever. Where sun once sliced...
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Enough
These are the things we are trained against: guessing aloud the age of any made-up woman; asking how many place-holding zeroes a man needs to number his wealth; the inquiry upon noticing the baby’s...
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Love
Without concrete, how is a thing– anything, really–believable? Borderless, genderless, colorless. Neutral, non-tonal, without smell. A feeling? A psychosis? A figment, or echo of a figment, or echo,...
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To My Son, During the Superbowl
To My Son, During the Superbowl My son stretched across the couch, was pulled into the spectacle of this year’s feats of strength by men, women—products. I know some by name, persona, statistics, not...
View ArticleThe Secret of Saints is…
On Saturday, I spoke at an event held in an Catholic church in Minneapolis. The stained glass was pristine, the stuff of much larger cathedrals, and it spurred this piece. Enjoy. *** The Secret of...
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