survivor

perhaps you have met him
the ragged wanderer of deserts
half-mad or at least incoherent
with his story of sharing
the last meal of a god
or a god's son
whatever that distinction is
and then doing nothing
though anyone sane might ask
what he might have
against the drawn swords of an empire
or the ruler of a puppet court
pulled out of bed to judge
a trial put on to reach
a judgement already prescribed
that the god's son be whipped
impressed with thorns
and nailed to a cross
then hung in the desert air to die
while strangers mocked and taunted
and followers agonized
over courage, despair, or conformity
but lived to see whether the son
would really resurrect
but this one
staggered down the hill
wandered into the desert
ashamed to pray
not daring not to
and wandered to see
Buddha fight his battles
beneath the bodhi tree
China invade Japan
Martel's son
forge a new empire
and trembled to watch
a tower blaze god's wrath
onto a New Mexican desert
which drove him here, he says
the city of the angels
surely here if anywhere
he will hear mercy from the god
but while he's waiting
can you spare a dollar?

hooboy

I have sent this blog off in so many directions!  Well, three, four, or several any way....  Stop by again soon, see where it's going then.  Brownian motion we call this, right?

After reading Tara Evonne Trudell

 I listened to you breathe
All night
Or rather woke often
Listened
Glad to hear the steadiness
Outside
A brother
Did not as well
Choked
Coughed
Scratched at our gate
Seventeen bullets in him
From a cop's gun
The cop thought
The brother pulled a gun
No one else saw
I did not know
I listened to you breathe
The night darkened
Brightened
Turned gold
The brother died
Cops stood around him
Then released him
To the coroner
I woke
And heard
Then read
And felt guilty
To feel such relief
I listened to you breathe
And will again