The Poetry Marathon

Never a Stranger

And even after all the doubts and the backsliding and the falling down in a myriad of ways

When I enter His house he welcomes me with open arms, clothing me with His love

He turns my eyes toward Him, away from the others and their curious stares

I go to tell Him I don’t know how He’ll forgive me this time

before I even finish He says He already Has.

Fruit Knife

So I tell her about the ripcord

this is maybe our 10^th date

and I explain that it’ll disembowel a guy

like some ancient samurai shit but you could do it in a subway

and also katanas are for weebs and virgins in that order

The fruit knife is ideal

quick stabs and Pikal style

slashes that rend muscle and tear

open all the important stuff

like arteries and whatnot

She holds it in her hand

turns it over

I tell her she’s in sabre grip now

and the dudes at Libre call this other one reaper

and she looks up at me

If you ever run around on me

I will filet you to the bone with this

It’s so small you’re thinking how

but I’ll find a way, she says hugging me

So don’t ever do it

She’s scary.

Kukri

Once again, another weird eastern blade thing

yeah but at least this one is useful for more than

bad guys who may try to steal her away from me

though it could totally be used for that also

In RECOIL OFFGRID magazine

I learned that I could use one

to cut trees and limbs

if this isn’t peak efficiency, I don’t know what is

Some Gurkha used one recently

to cut the head off of a bad guy

in like Afghanistan

and she thinks that’s horrible and savage, but I remind her about 911, which was truly savage

Here we are on our third date, roughing it

I was hoping we would hump in the woods but I didn’t bring a mattress pad

what did she think I meant by roughing it, she’s so bummed slapping the swarming leg mosquitoes

So now I’m clearing brush with my Cold Steel Kukri

18 inches slashes through even little trees

I imagine they’re the limbs of various murder-rapists, it’s not sexist if she hits back some before I run in

I turn and give her a smile every now and again to say I’m not psycho

I’m covered in sweat and nature debris, forcing a smile, 18 inch blade in my hand that I know an uncomfortable amount about

I’m scary.

Karambit

Curved thing cuts better than a straight out thing

anyway this is how I rationalize my purchase

and tell my date why I carry a weird fucking knife on my belt

A concealed carry pistol she would have been able to handle better

even one that was like on the hip in a holster

had I been wearing Oakley wraparounds and a ‘come and take it’ shirt

But no here’s her date

murder blade on the belt

talking about its use in Indonesia and shit

Tiger claw he says

more like compensation

This is scary, he’s scary

I’m scary

Combat Sarong

This sash is made of memories

emotions and things pulled from times

good and bad

It hangs loose on my body, it used to restrict me

round about a few times, I pull it taut when you come close

Silat started as a form of mysticism

Even the bad things I hold close

the things you try to forget, they make me who I am

I can take you down with just a flick of the wrist

The sash will wrap around you

spooling comfort

until it gets pulled a bit, restricting like an anaconda

Rhetorical Question

I asked her a million times

if she was sure

I believed she could have anyone

And a million times she said yes

and she said it through short squeezes and hugs

and she said it through little gifts and nips at the neck

and she said it through her body

when she put it with mine

And I asked her a million times more

and 999,999 times she said yes

through her eyes, deep and staring

from her laugh, real and hearty

to her crying when I had to leave

Then she told me, at another million, she wasn’t sure if she ever did

that she had doubts six months in

and I stopped asking.

EF6

Whirling winds come tear this place apart.

Set us straight by making us hold onto each other.

Fix this family with a disaster.

Let us learn true gratitude.

Have us marveled at your power.

True destroyer.

Rip the roof off.

Expose us huddling.

May you find us grasping each other.

Saying a million apologies.

Trying (for J.B.)

The entire time he sets up a strike he strains

eyes closed as if God had forgotten His keys and come back in for them

He paints crosses on his fingers and toenails

I watch the little white crosses while he goes for the pad.

His arm is extended but bent at the elbow

his palm is more of a door-knock fist

he leans in and delivers upon the pad

then jerks back into place

We have worked this strike since the beginning

Since I lined his holy feet up more than shoulder width

his eyes were closed then

but he didn’t hit as hard

He’ll stick with it until the end

training each muscle and synapse

eventually his eyes will be open wide

and with a hit, he’ll disintegrate the pad.

Bellbottoms

Hippies of a new age

so confident they’ll share

they replaced the bellbottoms with manifestos

their Kent State never happened

They tried to build their society in Seattle

and opened fire on innocents

I can smell them from here

more false promises.

With Arms Outstretched

Do you get it? Can you see it? Go on. Reach out and touch it.

The great darkness is coming. I know, I know, but we’ve earned it.

The least of them we couldn’t even follow. The Third Temple is here.

Not even a week. You know that right? That’s how quick.

No, there’s no time. Your dreams are as dead and empty as they ever were.

Running from it is not an option, the whole world plays a part. Even you.

How do you face a time where there will soon be no time? Faith.

Faith over fear but that only really works for the devout.

It’s so close now, reaching its prophecy out to you.

Feel it on your skin. The ink from the pages, tattooing itself deep.

It’s swallowing you whole, weighing you down, pulling at you with an intensity.

Watch now, watch them ascend the Mount, with all their holiness, watch them start it.

Open your eyes. Hold out your arms. Play your part. There’s nothing else to do.