Proof

Not one picture,
through thick and dark
passage of self-
sabotage, neither candid
nor ordained, a year
obscured, turned blue
bluffing— 

and then you, 
within minutes,
after laughing 
at our broken bodies,
caught me on tape
driving, distracted,
not present in the way
I would have liked
to present myself,
but after all that
time not
seen—

you produced
proof
that we were
enjoying
ourselves.

That we were present.

WHAT is GOOD

sitting in the morning dark humming all my brilliant ditties
searching for hidden beauties that got left behind in all the hullabaloo
we done with these YOU poems not even got room for these beautiful VIEW poems
it's.... damn it all looks so different all of a sudden i must be barreling toward imminent
crash cause from this vantage point i can't even smell the remnants of a joint or the husk
of my atheist apathy god they called me man of god so often i bet i swallowed the lie
funny how it's COMMON KNOWLEDGE that it's all so complicated but never laid
my life before all mighty all mighty (!) glory it's outrageous i sound to myself like a hack
because i've trained to hack the reverent language to pieces funny how it seemed so NORMAL
to exult some COMMON midwestern free-wheeling bricolage of indecision yet could never
bring myself to say god is good god is good god is good god is good god is good god is good
now i got myself plenty of time and plenty of leftover love to write the manifesto of my glorious
complete self so many legitimately SOUND poems suddenly have their place and i am allowed
all of a sudden and suddenly forever to write EVERYTHING ELSE that don't have your name
slobbered all over it god it's embarrassing god it's so good to see you god you always knew
i was coming home?