The Harrowing of Hell

Jesus went to Hell a harrowing, 
After his time on the cross and before his resurrection,
The story’s often omitted perhaps through a theological narrowing.

Holy Saturday commemorates bringing out the dead unsparing,
His journey to the depths of Sheol in a descending direction,
Jesus went to Hell a harrowing.

Was there contemplation as he died and a need for preparing,
Did his Father promise salvation and protection?
The story’s often omitted perhaps through a theological narrowing.

To return for all those that never believed unerring,
That never sought a messiah or his election,
Jesus went to Hell a harrowing.

He defeated Death itself while descending and never despairing,
Meditate on this and take time for some introspection,
The story’s often omitted perhaps through a theological narrowing.

What Christ perceived on his journey is explained varying,
But only by those who consider what they would do upon reflection,
Jesus went to Hell a harrowing,
The story’s often omitted perhaps through a theological narrowing.

Museum Card for a Battle Hammer


Every hand holding a hammer
isn't busy building new homes.
Not every raised hammer is poised
to smash down on the heads of nails.
This hammer's own dark cold steel head
had cast inside two words - "He's dead."

The End of the Line

The end of the line is death,
At least as far as we know.
Maybe, like some say, there's
More.  You might walk the Earth
Like some voodoo-ass zombie
(Hopefully with a six pack).  Or
You could be reborn, stuck with
Going through all this shit again
And, still, no guidebook.  Come
Back as a pig and live in fear of
People with t-shirts that read
'Bacon is my Spirit Animal'.  If
Come as a chicken, never ever 
Ever accept a free ride to the
Colonel's (either crispy or original).
That poor sundried shriveled up
Worm on the sidewalk most likely
Had way better times.  That is, if
You don't mind pushing your head
Through dirt.  This ain't been much
Of a happy trip.  When Old Yeller
Died, I cried.  When that bitch at
College kicked me in the nuts, I
Cried.  I don't cry that much now but
It seems people have always been
Kickin' me in the nuts.

Needle Point

 
Not all protection is active.
Passive attracts its own victims.
Silence but for pollinator
flight paths,
there is succulence in shadows
beaten from southwest sun.
Don’t leave the trail.
Resist the pull
the pleasure of impalement
on a pin cushion so green
in a land of brown.
Each needle
each rough ridge
a magnet toward
a tattoo unlike all others.
A French kiss in the desert
can’t cost all that 
much 
as another clean
canvas bleeds.

Dark Corners

 
Surely heaven must
have its own dark corners where
the malcontents and
     nay-sayers like to gather
     and smoke clove cigarettes, and
     talk shit about the management.

Monday's had become the bar shift

God put on the back burner
a little bit below the last circles
of hell and played around with it
only when he was tired of jerking off
the rest of the universe.
You think things like that after
being interviewed by homicide
detectives wired on black coffee,
Black Beauties and Miller Lite.
The clowns they're arresting
downtown on serious felony raps
I probably threw out of the bar
just before they attempted murder
and mayhem indoors.
"You're just getting paranoid,"
Never Misses Last Call says,
"I worked Monday nights for years
and nothing ever happened."
"Well, you can have them back anytime
you want. There was this guy who
looked like Jack Nicholson weirding
out in “The Shining” doing kamikaze
shots and talking with homicidal
invisible significant others.
That's normal, right? I've never
aspired to be a headline on
the Local News Section, that's
more your style, isn't it?"
"I thought you liked maniacs
and suicides, rumor has it you're
nickname at The Rib was Dr. Death."
"That's old news. Maybe if I were
you, I'd stop pissing me off.
Who knows, I might live up to
my past reputation at your expense."

Insane Vibe

The doctor, for that is whom Fred considered him to be, Fred thinking he remembered the man working alongside the emergency room team that earlier received injured Rebecca, helping the family to bring Rebecca into the emergency room docket. The doctor pushed the inserted fingers deep, to the knuckle, far into his now gaping mouth. The man, the doctor, with his two fingers now deeply inserted into the recesses of his almost supernaturally opened gaping mouth, terror reflecting hideously in his startled frightened eyes – eyes that remained on Fred watching him through the green tinted panes of the waiting room – with a massive flex of his temple facial muscles proceeded to bite down, chomping as if he had no control in the matter, severing, biting hard through the flesh and bone, severing the flesh and bone just below the now white, drained of blood, knuckles that formerly attached the digits to his hand.

Fred gasped. Shocked, he motioned to the others, to John and Ellen. “Look! Look at that!” he cried, motioning to the man in scrubs outside the window. The others swiveled their heads. As the others caught what Fred was looking at, at what was also directly looking back at them, the man, the doctor, his panic-stricken eyes still staring at Fred and now the entirety of the former Dale Alsop group, the man spit out the severed digits in a ground blanketing spray of blood, saliva, flesh and bone. Then he bent down and fastidiously as he could, in his condition, picked them up again.

“Good Lord!” It was Ellen. She was beside herself. John, too, Fred Martin and the children, recoiled, averted their gaze yet could not help themselves. Their eyes were drawn to the seemingly unbelievable horror on display outside the waiting room window, in the hospital parking lot, just by the hospital entrance.

The man had obviously lost his senses. He waved his injured digit-less left hand about, blood spilling on the parking area concrete. The Alsop family, what remained of it, plus Fred Martin and John, continued to watch the man from their position standing now in the small family waiting area. And the man, the orderly or doctor, waving about his bloody left hand, continued to stare at the family, through the green-tinted window looking out from the waiting area to outside, to the parking lot. It was the expression on the man’s face, however, that bewildered and frightened the Alsop group more than anything.

For the man was smiling. He chews his severed digits and smiles. Yet it was more than a grin, it was evil incarnate. Blood dripping from the man’s jaws, he chewed, grinned, those watching from inside thought they could hear the crack of the finger bones when the man pushed the bloody fingers, fingers he’d picked up off the ground after biting them off and spitting them out, back to his molars. To eat apparently.

This was too much for the children. Jerome, on the other hand, thought it was cool. He moved forward, toward the window, to get a better view. At the window, his nose to the pane, he watched. The crazy doctor had a gleam in his eye. The man seemed to be energized, by bolts of electricity or something, his body wiggled, as if he was, but was not, dancing. His arms flailed, whether holding and biting off fingers, or eating chewing them.

Still, behind those raving gleaming crazed eyes, Jerome, all thirteen years of him, thought he noticed something. Jerome thought he saw a rational man behind the crazy man. And this rational man’s crazy eyes and behavior, the doctor, orderly, whomever he was, Jerome thought he saw this man’s eyes pleading for help! He also saw that the crazed man, smiling and crunching down swallowing now portions of his bite-severed fingers, had locked his eyes onto his, Jerome’s eyes. And the man was coming wiggling, dancing, flailing his arms, smiling right at Jerome standing nose to the glass at the window!

“Get away from the window!” It was Ellen. She viewed what was occurring, rushed forward. Toward the window she grabbed her boy by the shoulder, turned him. But the man’s eyes were hypnotic. Locking onto little Jerome’s eyes, when Jerome looked deeply into the man’s eerily beaming vision, something was transferred to Jerome. The little boy was hit by the same electric current, the same psycho wave that affected the orderly. For Jerome, torn away from the window, viewing as he had the hideous smiling man’s maniacal bloody grinning gaze, when turned, looked at his mother with the same crazed look eyes!

What’s more, Little Jerome immediately stuck his pinky finger in his mouth and bit down hard, severing the digit from his right hand. Those gathered could hear the bone crunch distinctly as the boy’s incisors ripped through the finger bone at the point where it attaches to the hand. Now the finger is gone! Inside Jerome’s grin widening bloody red chewing mouth!

Blood spouted; it spurted. Ellen’s dress, the boy’s T-shirt, covered in crimson. Ellen shrieked. Then, glass shattered, fell loudly and smashingly onto the floor. “The man’s head just broke through the window!” Ellen erupted amongst the crashing fall of breaking tinkling glass. And it had, the smiling hypnotic man’s bald and now bleeding head rammed fleshy red through the green tint window. “Heeere’s, Johnny!” the bloody bald head grinned.

Previously published by Mad Swirl

“The Universe’s Way”

The people who cause you to drink
probably think you’re funny
and not really upset
and that only drunks wait 
outside the liquor store
a few minutes before it opens.

They don’t know the stress
they tighten on you like a sneaker
on an oversized foot,
swollen from sickness,
only for you to feel even worse
when they get hurt
from you telling them to fuck off.

It all makes you wonder 
if in a past life you were 
a Nazi or a serial killer,
and this is the universe’s way
of teaching you some guilt
lives longer than the memories
that try their damnedest to forget
how to swim in the cheapest whisky.

Flat Tire

In the auto repair shop waiting room 
local tv talk show hosts sit on love seats
practicing cream puff journalism

The closed caption is way out of sync
but the special guest is in the pink

She’s talking about emotional awareness
triggers, techniques, and feeling wheels

Let’s find your color on the chart
Ron Burgundy

She says emotions are universal
everybody has some

recognize and accept yours
but know they are fleeting

learn how to ride ‘em out
identify what’s bugging you
and try to feel pretty

Is this a children's show 
for adults?

Validate your needs
don’t stuff ‘em in a box

and don’t go away while we break 
for commercial

windows, doors, and laminate floors
boner pills, neuropathy cures, liposuction
carnival cruises, dental implants

and now we’re back
with depression strategies
anxiety attacks
and more happy talk about
how to cuddle your heart

Wow, thanks for that!

I had no idea I was so out of touch

And now I’m suddenly aware
of the woman with a tired face

she looks deflated 
like she might need a puppy

or a chocolate chip cookie
or a brand new life

And there’s a stack of old magazines
on the coffee table

but the newspaper is fresh

dirt about fraud, politics
culture wars
trade wars
drug wars
real wars
artificial stupidity
unbelievable lies
and government sleaze 

It’s almost overwhelming

Maybe I’m dreaming

I don’t know what color to feel
in this new dark age

Something’s sadly out of whack

My emotional wheel is flat

Excuse me sir, your car is ready.



In The Department Of Galactic Efficiency

It was a champagne night

so we poured the moon into a flute
until the stars began to fizz

We were locked in

There was no outer space
in our hearts

Every kiss was efficient

Not a drop of love was wasted

in the government of us.