From the 2019 Collection "2222"
#222 #2222 #comedy #existential #jmartindean
There is a stream of what could have been which flows on with the same rate and newness of what is.
Oh, Death! Two beers and I’m on my back! Skipped the shower, skipped the toothbrush. Just a film of sweat,
A Sacred Site is the ultimate emblem, a trophy of the horizon’s finitude… No better a final gate, no more wiser a runway,
One of God’s tricks is, similar to Michael Jordan, It sinks a three-pointer with 1.2 seconds left on the clock,
Hell came through on battered wings, and thought to ask just one last thing. That If I could,
There, upon the loose dirt, I was a stone’s throw from her, Goddess Incarnate. She had snakes for hair, she had green flames for eyes,
Every once in a while, when my bunkmates are asleep (or at least I hope they are), and the jingle of the keys fades to the end of the hall,
There was on my property an old gnarled stump, it was weathered and hardened, It was aesthetically pleasing as d… but I decided to take it to a spec…
Pretend like your hell is the new normal. Now the space is calm, and poignant, and telling.
Like a Somali pirate just pull up on the Grim Reaper, surprise him
I gave way to Love and felt some marked change in psyche Something difficult to speak about
When I see the little holes where the earrings used to be I wonder what they embraced and then renounced to get to now.
The choir of the saints is heartle… They’ve parried happiness a lifeti… seeking only the old earth, the marsh of the meek— where earnest suffering
Nine times out of ten, it’s a demon you’re seeing, not an angel. They have all kinds of disguises, I know-I know,
A Sacred Site has a genealogy, a pedigree of constituents whose good wisdom and charitable insight are markers enough