DREAMLESS


The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.


You cannot be a warrior in the cause when the children be-
come a target of the dirty feds in poor boy pursuit and
pee-on juvenile probation nazi hunters and gang
bang raiders of the lost parks and the Burbank
train clickety clacks in the night when deep
awake in restlessness makes the valley's
heat feel like a presence of
desert demons



He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:
he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul:

Like Southern garden parties, there's the heat and the tropics
in the living rooms of dull suburban conversation..
He is drunk again, sliding comments on
the budding of a buzz.

He leadeth me in
the paths of righteousness
for his name's sake.


It's hit or miss when the tropic of intent is a message with
the bull's eye that finds lost teenage innocence drifting
further away from memory and away from any
respect for fathers who choose to loath
themselves in bottles, the unmelting
ice cubes rattling through the
hallways citing, "make my
day" and, "come
what may"

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil: for thou art with me;
thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.


There's always a TV on... the vibe of rum 'n pepsi, garcia
vegas 'n honey.. marijuana as the culture's cure when the
children say the time is 4:20 mommy. there's a
helplessness and a conflict in the dreamless
summer stillness and the sounds of stealth
and raccoon padded footfalls out
the side where the roses grow
wild beyond the garbage,


Thou preparest a table before me in
the presence of mine enemies:

and the street corner can be seen from the kitchen window
screens where ivy clings and moon beams shine on the
water in the glass of sleepwalk drinking when
sleepless yet not dreamless in your standing
with control in the glints of wake like
within a madness of your own
weary choice when your
voice is under wraps,

thou anointest my head with oil;
my cup runneth over

and silence fragrant, when understanding is
wordless only witness to the beauty
of the desert when all else sleeps
and you realize the vastness
of nothing. It's true there
is no life East of
Sepulveda,

Surely goodness and mercy shall
follow me all the days of my life:

and you transcend toward the silver light of the July moon
midnight frozen while the Spirit understands
unfettered to remember later that


and I will dwell in the house
of the LORD for ever.

even when alone the madness is convicting when sanity is
usually gaged by the company you keep or
try to lose in distant ramblings
right before you say
good-bye -

Amen.

in the gesture of another disappearance....
fearless of the night, for
once in your life.