Poems

We did not give you an “artificial Jesus” even, (an unkindness too mild for mission); we gave you a dangerous one, no two-edged sword of truth coming out of his mouth but a dagger in…

The pure purpose of color spans out like a kaleidoscope rotating in prismed phrases that only an ocular linguist could decode, stained glass spilling into a slow-motion film with a spattered plot of golds and…

Panes of glittering stained glass stains disfigured from the past ache of all the pains that last art of splinters deftly cast in the frame that holds it fast through the cracks the light gets…