Poem
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When I hunch forward, squinting into the future
I feel the violent tug of yesterday
Attempting to detain me.
Ahead are illusions
Whose faces are distorted by distance.
While trying to divine their nature
I stumble, confused.
When I breathe through my flaring nostrils
The air is sweet with paper whites.
There is incarnation in this moment
Yet often I have poked
In the miscellany of history
Or the delusional hope
Of shimmering crowns.
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Shekinah Glory 
Childhood lurks just out of reach.
My manly hands grasp at air, not finding hope.
I bend over to pick up the pen I dropped…
I farted.
I did not laugh.
I look back to find myself.
Comment by ryan April 1, 2008 @ 7:34 pmI am no longer there.
I have left here.
What approaches?
Thanks for poetry. I can almost smell the fart from here.
Comment by pastorofdisaster April 1, 2008 @ 8:41 pmThanks for poetry. I can almost smell the fart from here.
Comment by pastorofdisaster April 1, 2008 @ 8:42 pm