- Non-Erotic Poetry
- The Stress of Sainthood
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A mountain of work and then it's done.
I rest my weary bones.
Beneath a sky of purple clouds
And angel's peace, I doze.
A party of immense gratitude
Careens my way and bows.
It takes my hands and twirls me 'round
The room of a thousand nows.
I laugh and dodge the compliments
On heels of crystal height.
I wake beneath my lover's face
And frisk the dancing Knight.
A restful grace washed over me
After Sisyphus' rounded rock
Parted ways with futures told
And I refused to watch the clock.
Instead I thought of nothing
To clean my head of briars
And dash away the noisy wails
Of the Devil's discordant choirs.
Clarity sings my thoughts away
As rapture takes ahold.
My body rocks both sides at once
And splits the sky ten-fold.
Settling in the pile of saints
I half-lid eyes and see,
The Savior is inside us all
As I take care of me.
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