Advance praise for A Rebellion of Care

“Where policy, programming, and posturing fall short, poetry delivers. Art is going to save us, and David Gate has given us the most gorgeous book of words that matter. I can’t even pick my favorite poem, but these lines are from a contender: ‘Though the system takes all it can / From our tired bodies…It will never, not ever, / Ransack our hallelujahs.’ Come for the language, stay for the hope. What a gift. We need it right now.”

—Jen Hatmaker,
New York Times bestselling author and host of the podcast For the Love

“This book invites you to be radicalized by tenderness…. A soulful refuge for both the cynic and the softy.”

—Lyndsay Rush,
USA Today bestselling author of A Bit Much

“A Rebellion of Care is audacious, generous, and loaded with love. To read David’s poetry is to be cracked wide open for the sake of beauty, wonder, and, most critically, each other. I haven’t been this moved by a book in a long time.”

—Kendra Adachi,
New York Times bestselling author of The PLAN and The Lazy Genius Way

“Good gracious, this book made me so glad to be alive in this beautiful tragedy of a world. A Rebellion of Care is a bracing pull-no-punches invitation to the disruption of joy, the tender work of healing, the demand of justice, and the stubborn ordinary holiness of being a person, despite all evidence to the contrary.”

—Sarah Bessey,
bestselling author of Field Notes for the Wilderness

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Gate, David author

Title: A rebellion of care / by David Gate.

Description: First edition. | New York, NY: Convergent, 2025. |

Identifiers: LCCN 2025008061 (print) | LCCN 2025008062 (ebook) | ISBN 9780593602171 hardcover | ISBN 9780593602195 ebook

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ep_prh_7.3a_152335842_c0_r0

To my mother,
who taught me how to care and how to fight

An Introduction

Poetry is just the evidence of life.
If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash.

—Leonard Cohen

At the beginning of 2021, in a short fit of unmerited confidence, I began posting my poetry to Instagram with no great purpose or clear plan. I had decided to share a poem once a week for a year, regardless of how the pieces were received. A creative discipline. Zero expectations, just creating and sharing. Committing to such an intentional schedule of sharing your art is a commendable decision—but then you have to actually write the things.

Over that year, my poems scanned an array of recurring themes—friendship, stumbling faith, the rage & sorrow that comes with witnessing systemic racism and police violence, the dehumanizing effects of modern life, mental health, the physical body, and how to be kinder human beings in online spaces. My writing shifted between the physical, the metaphysical, and the supernatural, always colored by a political and spiritual undertone, even when those elements weren’t explicit. It was a haphazard, scattergun, wing-it-every-week start to sharing online. Yet at the end of that year, as I stood back and examined these pieces as a body of work, one theme tied it all together: that the most important thing for us is to care for the world, ourselves, and each other. And more, to do so is a radical position, inherently undermining the status quo of twenty-first-century capitalism. I leaned in. I began to call it “A Rebellion of Care.”

Though it may not feel like it, most of us already live radical lives—it is just not for anything we truly believe in. If you find it impossible to go to Target without spending $200 on stuff you had no intention of buying, you are already radicalized. Or if the only political options you can imagine are either old men in red ties or old men in blue ones. Or if the Amazon truck visits you every day. Or if you give 10 percent of your income to a church that spends only a fraction of that on helping the poor. Or if you bust your butt working as hard as you can at a career you don’t enjoy, for a company that doesn’t care about you, with the hope your body will last for more than five years of retirement. You are radicalized. These are extreme behaviors; we just call them normal.

I am interested in radicalizing us into a different kind of life—the kind of life you actually value most—a life of unrelenting care. I want to radicalize us into a life of self-acceptance that leads to other-acceptance. Into a life of nurturing what is unique about yourself so that you would nurture others in the same way. A determined life of tenderness toward bodies, spirits, minds, hearts—and the earth on which they live. A life of deep friendships that violate social orders of class, caste, individualism, and isolationism.

Many people have a dream of leaving society, going off-grid, leaving behind the digital age. There is a magnetic draw to a simpler life. Yet to create that life you have to rely on oil companies, Amazon, and tutorials from YouTube to even get started. That’s not even mentioning the money required to begin and how you might go about acquiring those funds. True divestment from modern life is not a genuine possibility for most people. We remain complicit.

While you cannot break a system on your own, you can certainly weaken it. You can pull at its seams. Growing your own food, repairing your clothes, giving to mutual-aid funds all help achieve this. We have to build a new world while the old one decays—catching whoever we can and sparing as much of the earth as we are able. Not in an attempt to create some kind of impossible utopia, but for the objective goodness of the task and the fate of the human soul.

A rebellion of care lies on the far side of cynicism. It is not before it—that is innocence. It is also not above it—that is naïveté. Instead, it is for those who know the patterns of cynicism because that is what the truth demands. It is for those who know the world is going to be cruel and that power inevitably corrupts all who possess it. A rebellion of care has been through a dark night of the soul.

If you probe the most cynical people, you will often find they are the most caring and empathetic. It is just that this world is so harsh, it feels like we have to encase ourselves in mistrust in order to survive. But we cannot stay in that shell indefinitely. It is a husk where souls wither and die. We have to break through the cynicism to exist in a second state of tenderness in the world. To be just as alive as when we were children.

That is not easily done, as very little in our world seems right these days. I know every generation thinks that, but we have more cause than most.

The rise of Christofascism, the corruption of our political parties by corporations and the ultra-rich donor class, the unfolding climate catastrophe, state-sponsored genocide, an oil-dependent food chain, AI devouring energy resources & creative jobs, monstrous rental costs, homeownership being a fantasy for most people, microplastics in everybody, greed under the veil of inflation while companies announce record profits.

The way our society is constructed is simply not good for us. It is not good for our bodies, nor our minds, nor our hearts. So what possible chance do our souls have?

I have voted “correctly” in every national and local election I was allowed to participate in. And still, things get worse.

I have prayed the right prayers with as much intensity as a human being can muster and given myself totally to religious practices. And still, things get worse.

I have protested at city halls and plazas, held signs and chanted under a punishing summer sun. And still, things get worse.

I have loved my family faithfully and fully and well. And still, things get worse.

Often I can feel myself inching closer to the lip of despair. Maybe you can too? But I’m not ready to give up just yet. I still want all of this life.

A hummingbird song. Blueberries, raspberries, gooseberries. Michelin stars and Taco Bell. Tattoos on my body where the skin will wrinkle as I age. I still want it all.

I want to listen to the rain while everyone else sleeps. I want to perfect a recipe. Make bad puns. Avoid the main story line with side quests. Sing three-part harmonies. Watch one more episode.

But I cannot positive-mental-attitude myself into a more equitable society.

I cannot keep practicing wellness in a hellscape.

I certainly can’t stand opposed to the total power of corrupt corporations and a failing state on my lonesome.

Something has to change for all of us.

Something has to break.

As I am writing this, in October 2024, the city I live in—Asheville, North Carolina—has just been hit by Hurricane Helene. The floods, mudslides, and landslides have washed away entire neighborhoods. I am witnessing firsthand what a mass rebellion of care could look like. People are sharing and serving without hoarding or second-guessing themselves. Crisis brings focus. Our little fiefdoms mean nothing if our neighbor is dying. While the authorities may be here, doing what they are instructed to do, they are slow and inadequate. A trillion-dollar-a-year military is less effective than the organized, compassionate, and willing locals. Everything I see here tells me that a different way of living is not just possible; it is right under the surface of our society, ready to come alive.

We cannot rely on those in power to help us and we are going to have to make our own way. Of course good things can still be achieved by political and religious institutions, but we can’t depend on them or place our hope in them to do what is necessary. They will never sacrifice themselves. We have to find other sources of power to help us. We have to bring that energy for each other.

We know what is true and we know what we must do.

The mystery of life is not “what is this all about?” The real mystery is “how do we forget?” The beginning & end of it all is that we must take care of each other. Anyone on their deathbed can tell you that & certainly every child feels it too. To say that “this life is beautiful” or that “love is the answer” is not in the least bit original, but it is the truth. I believe that truth still hums with possibility. And saying something true in a world awash with lies

is the first act of rebellion.

One

A Rebellion of Care

A Manifesto for a Rebellion of Care

i.

Make art & music

because music & art

are love letters to the living

addressed to us all

Learn forgiveness

practice repentance

make reparations

carry no offense

In the accumulation of loss

retain an affinity for joy

& know that some truths

are only illuminated by tears

Listen to people’s stories

like you are listening for a pulse

like you are in the cloud of transfiguration

rapt by the voice of heaven

If you see someone who is vulnerable

confused, lonely or lost

pick them up

& keep them going

Treat food & drink

& the tables you meet around

like the true religions they are

there is nothing more sacred

Temper the clamor for greatness

& become a student of goodness

in order to create

more beauty than toil

Turn from competition

let go of envy

bankrupt rivalry

& lift others up

No more grabbing

& taking & hoarding

instead we sway in the dance

of giving & receiving

Becoming something more co-op,

more kibbutz

more of that kumbaya shit

ii.

There are other ways to live

that need no flags or anthems

where we can all thrive

in the ceremony of nature

Tending to the fauna

cultivating the flora

keeping clean the air

keeping pure the water

Being equally fascinated

by stars & soil

stewarding the earth

in ways ancient & indigenous

Don’t purchase your happiness

—nurture it

iii.

Your best life

isn’t to succeed

in every venture

while married to

the perfect partner

& moving in

an ideal body—

it is to love without fear

Always be totally yourself, but know

the most radical thing you can do—

what will really change the world—

is to allow others to be their full selves

in their complexity

& their entirety

& their absurdity

Dignity is the only thing that you can give

that when given

you will have more of

than when you began

We contain multitudes

therefore we exist

in our own beings

as community

Every law

every institution

every form of governance

is nothing more than an assent

Agreement is energy

& where two or three of us

are unified

there is the presence of God

So what do we owe each other?

Nothing

& yet, everything.

iv.

When you heal

we all heal

So stay connected

to your own unique spirit

that you cannot be reduced

to an economic unit

Don’t be so bound up

in your own problems

that you forget to be

either loving or grateful

Don’t be so caught up

in existential despair

that you expedite the void

to our present moment

And if you feel yourself

shrinking away

like a fruit beyond

its moment of ripeness

pared back by daily grind

& algorithm

until all that is left

is the core of you

you are not diminishing

you are being left with nothing but

your sheer potential

the seed of something new

v.

Another way is possible

So I receive you as you are

because there is no love

without acceptance

I hold no claim on you

I have no shame to bear for you

all I have is yours

A rebellion of care

for earth

for each other

for your own tender frame.

The Good We Can Imagine

This kale seed

I am planting in the soil

feels like throwing a pebble

at a panzer tank. It is

a tiny act of defiance

against the oil-dependent

insanity of our food chain

but still I must kneel

in the dirt and do what good

I can imagine

like forgiving someone who believes

they did nothing wrong

like a prayer for the dying

Joy Is an Act of Rebellion

Joy is an act of rebellion

Against established order

That is why the angels

Brought their glad tidings

To the nightshift serfs

Rather than the boardroom suits

Because the joy of heaven—

Heralded to us—

Cannot be commoditized

Privatized or monetized

Though the system takes all it can

From our tired bodies

And stacks its weight

Upon our aching backs

It will never, not ever,

Ransack our hallelujahs

Commit to the Bit

If life is a comic tragedy

or a tragic comedy

it makes no difference at all

you still have to commit to the bit

you can’t afford to half-ass it

whether you feel like the star

or a simple cameo

your task

is just the same

speak your lines

with voice of vigor

& with all your chest

like you believe

every word from your gut

because you are

the only one

who will ever get to play this part

Don’t Give Up on Yourself

If there’s a check engine light while you drive

& your card keeps getting declined

If you find yourself one bill from broke

& every plan just turns into smoke

Don’t give up on yourself

Conjure up a cuss storm if you want

Curse the sky, the sun & the ground

Quit anything that makes you feel like shit

Toxic people, stupid habits, all of it

But don’t give up on yourself

You can throw social media in the bin

You can rid yourself of politics or sin

Leave a church, leave a party, leave a job

Even a partner, if you must

Just don’t give up on yourself

When all your hopes have journeyed to hell

And all your wishes are deep in a well

When all your prospects are grim

When all your chances are slim

Please don’t give up on yourself

Good things take time

& good lives take the most

There will be good here for you

Just promise me one thing you’ll do:

That you don’t give up on yourself

We Are Born Telling the Truth

We are born telling the truth

making cries

for our needs

But soon enough

we are taught

to stop speaking

unless it is urgent

That silence is a lie—

we shroud ourselves

in independence

to hide the helplessness

Yet the truth never changes—

I need you.

I Will Not Niche Myself

I will not niche myself

because there is nothing more specific

than the entirety of a person.

I am not one thing

even if that thing is good

even if that thing is excellent

even if that thing is my livelihood

even if that thing is my calling

even if everyone loves that thing

even if people need it

instead, I will follow the muse

wherever she roams. I’m going to write

& paint & dance & scroll & sculpt.

I am not your poet, or your pastor

or your prophet. I am a steward

unto my spirit. I am a witness to my world.

Waste Your Life

“You’re gonna waste your life”

gosh, I hope so

writing poems

when I should be working

playing Super Mario Kart

with my ADHD kids

watching old movies

I know every word of

scrolling through memes

& laughing so hard

the people around me

demand to see them

praying for healing

that probably won’t come

protesting unjust systems

I can barely imagine changing

yes, I want to waste my life

like a cocktail of tears & perfume

cracked open from alabaster

Stardust

Remember you are dust

and to dust you shall return

however

it is stardust

so it’s okay

to sparkle a little

before you go

Stay Weird

Make your corner of this planet

as weird as you want to

geek out in every way

your quirky heart desires

be a fan

be a stan

embrace obsession

value expression

remember that a doctor

is just a body nerd

and a rock star

is just a music dork

so there is no point hiding

all the ways you are unique

because every single one of us

is a gorgeous little freak

Less Panic, More Disco!

Less panic, more disco!

Less cold, more play

Less guns, more roses

Less radio, more head

Less boy, more genius

Less daft, more punk

Less iron, more wine

Less flaming, more lips

Less vampire, more weekend

Less david, more bowie

However

More joy, less division

Terraform

Write the world you wish to see

paint it or sing it or craft

take the thought of a new day

& let it become a path

Use whatever lies around you

the tools you have right now

& start the work of changing

making fertile fallow ground

It doesn’t have to be a heaven

nor an idyll or an Eden

it just has to be a tomorrow

your soft heart can believe in

It’s All a Gift

The color palette when sunset

touches the cloud strata

the familiar patterns

of the moon cycle

that still, somehow

surprise us

the boredom

the ennui

the evenings of sorrow

I hope you know that

it’s all a gift

so smoke the cigarillo

go to karaoke

add the fries

our time isn’t slipping away

because we never held it

all we can hold

is grace & mystery

& the warmth of each other

Time Is the Face in the Mirror

i.

I thought by passing through the fire

I would be proved to be silver or gold

But there I found that I am glass

—an hourglass

pinched in the middle

watching the sand fall from one end to the other

there are more grains now in the lower half

than above. Life doesn’t pass us by—

it passes through.

ii.

Every creak of my knees

Tick tock

Ever click of my jaw

Tick tock

My spirit is a candle

My body is a clock

iii.

Time is the face in the mirror

there is a child

in that face, an old man too,

we are all at once

past & present &

possibility

Two

Human Becoming

Whether through entropy or evolution…nothing stays what it was.

My skin loosens as it thins

My nails soften as they grow

My eyes darken as they squint

My heart tightens as it slows

My mind forgets against its want

I am a human being. Always becoming.

Most of the physical changes we experience are involuntary, consequences of hormones and age. As our hairs gray and spines curve, we seek to assert control in various ways—diets, routines, exercises, potions & prayers—attempting to mold our bodies according to our will, until we realize the limits of our influence. The body will do what it was always meant to do. The rules cannot be unwritten.

There’s a hint of madness in the futility of it all. Bodily standards and health advice are constantly shifting beneath our feet, with new rules, new diets, new strategies—each one promising transformation. We chase a fleeting version of ourselves, as though youth or perfection were something we could capture and hold steady in the palms of our well-moisturized hands. But it slips through our fingers every time. The whole enterprise—this endless project of self-improvement, this attempt to keep the body from what it knows how to do—leaves us exhausted, discouraged, and insecure.

If we want to move toward liberation, we must recognize the impermanence of our physical form. When we embrace the truth that life is fleeting, we have the potential to develop a more powerful sense of wholeness and sacredness, because we begin to grasp that our bodies are not negative or positive or even neutral. They simply are.

And then they are not.

We are born, we change, we die. Death is just one more transformation. In order to accept our own bodies, we have to first accept the impermanence of the whole absurd situation of being alive.

By relinquishing the manic urge to control and manipulate our bodies, we can redirect our focus and energy toward genuine self-care. We have to let go of this frantic desire to hold on to something that was never really ours to begin with so we can actually look after our bodies, in both health and appearance, liberated from the fear of aging and death.

This might mean listening to what our bodies need rather than forcing them into routines that exhaust or punish them. It might mean choosing rest over pushing through fatigue, eating foods that nourish rather than restrict, or moving our bodies in ways that bring joy rather than stress. By adopting practices like mindful movement, body acceptance, and compassionate self-talk, we can exist in ways that actually match our highest values of dignity and the importance of living life to the full.

The way we treat ourselves, of course, echoes in the way we treat others. If our internal lives are marked by managing, manipulating, and coping—then that’s all our relationships will amount to. But if we can extend compassion to ourselves—if we can accept our bodies for what they are, for what they are becoming—then we can begin to offer that same care to the people around us. For who they are and who they are becoming. There’s ancient wisdom in accepting our shared impermanence, and it is the foundation of a generous life.

Twerk of Art

If you feel any joy whatsoever

that makes you wanna

shake your ass

you have to do it

you have to get up

& shake that thing

like the future

of the human race

depends on it

because I believe

it kinda does

it’s of national importance

it’s of eternal significance

it’s an act of deliverance

so bounce it

Secretions (No Secrets)

The saliva of our kisses

The sweat of our endeavor

The blood of our cycles

The colostrum for our children

The tears of disappointment

The snot from ugly weeping

The pus that comes with healing

The semen that creates

Why would we feel shame

for any of this life?

Good Skin (A Haiku)

Yes, I have good skin

it keeps the rain out and my

vital organs in

Pumice

Tough at the heels

more scale than skin

I take the pumice stone

from the core of the earth

light & coarse

I put my elbow into it

to burnish the sole

until I recognize my own feet

as they were before the miles

how they felt as a child

softer now, I coat them in oil

anointing in reverse

every stony road I foundered on

Body Language

Whenever we divide our bodies

into what we like about them

and what we don’t

we mutilate ourselves

you are not an inventory

of parts

in columns of pros

& cons

your body is more than gains

& losses

you are a whole being—

a poem

whose every word

makes meaning.

Old Layers

Be at peace with the dust

you are creating

even as it shrouds

the mantelpieces & photo frames

& pictures of your younger years

when you were no more beautiful

than you are right now

Nonetheless

Ask not if your body

is ready for the beach,

but if the beach

is ready for your body.

Be sure, reader,

it is not ready,

yet it will marvel

at your majesty

nonetheless.

Sorry (Not Sorry)

Patiently, I watch

The cut upon my arm

Slowly close, then scab

Forming tender new skin

As I marvel at the magic of it

I remember

My healing does not depend

On an apology

That will never be given

Heatwave

The average human body is almost

ninety-nine degrees

so remember

at all times

you are hotter than a hot day

whether someone tells you or not

you are sultry

you’re a scorcher

you’re a sizzler

you’re a veritable heatwave

and that is not opinion

it’s science

Wear Whatever

Wear whatever clothes

make you feel happy

(whatever happy means to you)

be comfortable

in your second skin

be prepared or smart

or chic or sexy

or simply warm

because the worst thing

you can possibly wear

is other people’s expectations

The Wisdom of the Chronic

The grinding of your teeth

The nights of insomnia

The knot within your gut

The skips of arrhythmia

Your body is a megaphone

For all that is inside of you

Imploring us to face

The symptoms of our trauma

So we can start the healing

Of the outer self & inner

Listening with compassion

To the wisdom of the chronic

Let Me Give You a Minute

There is a reason

why the doctor steps out of the room

while you peel off your clothes

only to re-enter

minutes later

and, promptly,

stare at your genitals.

Becoming naked

is more vulnerable

than being naked—

the process of revelation

is always the worst of it.

Bedfellows

Grizzly bears get sleepy

and silverbacks too

lions are the kings

of the catnap

and tigers have little else to do

tiredness is not weakness

because strength & rest

are not strangers

they are bedfellows

Three

Friendship Will Save Us

For the last thirteen years I have lived four thousand miles away from my nearest blood relative who isn’t one of my children. In that time, all our social and communal needs have been met by friends. Every single one.

Every meal cooked when we were sick. Every single babysitter. Every “need anything from the store?” text. A 2002 Honda Odyssey given because we were broke and had one too many children for a normal car. A small army of folks willing to fill a U-Haul. I know people move cities and countries all the time without forming any community whatsoever, but I don’t know how. I don’t think I would be strong enough for that.

There is a different kind of impact from receiving help from friends rather than family. It breaks the spell of our isolation. It is the feeling of being loved for who you are, not simply for your position in society or your family dynamic.

In a culture steeped in individualism and driven by the mechanisms of hyper-capitalism, the idea of friendship beyond the boundaries of family has taken on a certain urgency. We are told, repeatedly, that we must make it on our own, that independence is the goal, but the truth is we are lonelier for it. We scroll through our days, seeking connection in curated feeds, in half-formed conversations, convincing ourselves that this is enough. It isn’t. Connection is made in the places we inhabit, with the people we meet there, in moments that don’t ask to be posted or liked. These connections, fragile as they may seem, are what anchor us in a world intent on pulling us apart.

My life has been improved richly through internet friendships, and they have kept me alive through some dark times, but if all we have is online communities, then we are utterly beholden to the tech overlords. All they have to do is shut down our account or flood their own site with ads to the point of being unusable and we are left stranded from our online friends, totally alone.

Adulthood has always been like setting out to sea, but these days people who are entering adulthood are feeling totally adrift. There are fewer and fewer relational shores or harbors to settle in. But that doesn’t mean we have to just give up, hold on tight, and try to ride the unpredictable waves of luck and privilege.

Many have noted that our society has evolved (devolved?) away from third spaces and community-based living, which for millennia has been the bedrock of neighborhoods and our support systems. Even the churches these days remain closed outside of Sunday worship. When everything is a business, and every local business is struggling, there is no margin to allow people to simply be together unless they are paying to do so at sufficient return for investors.

The act of nurturing genuine friendships and cultivating a spirit of communal reciprocity is the only way forward through huge societal upheaval and personal challenges. Though everything around us changes so often, the solidarity found in a web of caring friends establishes an essential sense of belonging. It provides a continually renewing sustenance and purpose.

Yet making friends in this age is no simple matter. It’s not as if we were ever that good at it to begin with, but something about the pandemic sharpened the edges of our isolation, made us retreat further into ourselves and our enclaves. Now, with remote work and virtual everything, it’s easy to feel like IRL connection is something we’ve forgotten how to do. People are busier, lonelier, more strung-out, and increasingly wary of each other. There is a thicker layer of fear to break through to make new friends. This sense of disconnection and trepidation is not unusual. It is everywhere.

The irony is, we are all feeling this same hunger for connection, even as we convince ourselves we’re the ones who are left out. It’s one of the few things we have in common now, this sullen desperation for some kind of community, some sense of belonging. And yet we remain apart, solitary, more comfortable in our isolation than we are ever likely to admit. But it doesn’t have to be like this. There are ways back in, ways that aren’t as impossible as they seem. Small steps: joining a local group, going to an event, sending a message to someone you haven’t spoken to in years. It doesn’t take much to break the spell of loneliness.

Because if we don’t, if we allow ourselves to remain in this state of separation, we’ll drive ourselves mad. We can’t survive on family alone, much as we’d like to believe we can. Friendship is uniquely powerful because it is born from choice, not blood. I choose to be your friend & you choose to be mine. Familial love is the most natural thing on earth. Friendship, however, is supernatural.

A single family that is thriving is nothing more than one family thriving. But three friends looking after one another’s needs is beloved community. And that is what will save us.

Friendship Will Save Us

Friendship is what will save us

so fall deeply in love with your friends

date them, woo them, pursue them

mark your anniversaries

celebrate your victories

take care of their names

when they’re not in the room

create a space for them

where all truths are tender

for intimacy doesn’t have to be

reserved for romance

and crushes do not belong

only to lovers

so don’t hide it

when you find

a bona fide ride-or-die

Mutual Sanctuary

I place no demand that you bring

the very best version of yourself

to every occasion we meet

between us there is no contest

of composure or need to impress

you can show up with fraying strands

of cotton seams and DNA

jerry-rigged by the safety pins

of coffee and obstinance

we will both be present

in all our unraveling

make no attempt to get it together for me

we are together and that is all I need

Give Flowers

Give flowers to your friends

and poems to your people

make mixtapes and playlists

with songs you think they will love

call out the qualities

they cannot see in themselves

a single encouragement

can be enough nourishment

to sustain them through famine

and call them back to themselves

when they are lost and at sea

throw banquets of glee

for the heartiest of laughs

and ugliest of sobs

in a communion of saints

where the profound and profane

ring through the same air

share as much time as you can

before the finale arrives

for the quality of our friendships

is the quality of our lives

Intentionality

I am intentionally

and delicately

building an authentic

and safe community

of absolute fucking weirdos.

Prisms

As we share the stories

of how we have been shattered

Light passes through the pieces

fractured into prisms

We see each other clearer

And more beautiful than if

We had never been broken at all

Never Stop Spamming the Timeline

Never stop spamming the timeline

with all the things that you love

if you live in a beautiful place

show me

if you are in love

show me

if you ate something delicious

I wanna see

though I may skip through

the 207th baby pic

by God, still post them

your art, your music,

your kitchen designs

the books you have read

your poems that don’t rhyme

fill this life with all you love

and share the joy with me

360°

The first thing

about knowing ourselves

is to realize

that we cannot

really be known

by our own eyes alone

we need to heed

what those close to us

perceive, because

we are too good

at the art of denial

too afraid of being

as naked as the lies

we tell ourselves

So No One Told You Life Was Gonna Be This Way

I want to pick you up from the airport at an ungodly hour & I want you to help me move my couch & I want to cancel plans & for you to not get upset & I want to look after your kids when you need a break & I want to open the good wine with you on a random Thursday & I want you to visit me in the hospital after hours & I want you to send memes when we both should be sleeping & I want to be waiting for you when you return from the vet, forlorn without your pet & I want you to side eye me when someone says something weird & I want to know what you need before you even have the words.

Drop Your Guard

The hardest part of boxing,

For me, was not the punching

Or being punched

Or the dancing

But holding up my hands

For three minutes at a time.

Defending yourself

Constantly

Is exhausting.

Any relationship

Where you can drop your guard

is sacred.

I Hope This Finds You Well

I type “lol”

even though I’m not laughing

I type “haha”

even though I didn’t smile

I finish the line

with an exclamation mark

though there’s nothing there

I need to exclaim

This is not to lie or fake it

I only want

to move gently

through our relationship

& for my words to feel safe

because I really do

want to find you well

Casper

Maybe they’re not ignoring me

Maybe it’s just one of those days (or years)

Maybe they don’t know how to respond

Maybe they’re embarrassed

it has been so long

Maybe they care so much

it hurts to even speak

Maybe it’s not about me at all

It’s okay if you don’t call me back

Because I have no desire to be

Another piece of personal admin

To feel guilty about

I want to be a shelter

Not a chore

A refuge for whenever

You need to make your way home

To Laugh with Old Friends

Our time drifts by

like a second glass of wine

in the hallowed safety

of history & trust

in the howling indignity

of belly cackles & snorts

a symphonic cacophony

of bountiful love

to the point where you can’t breathe

to the point where I might pee

& through all manner of tears

our weary hearts revive

yes, to laugh with old friends

is to be truly alive.

In Memoriam

I am so happy

to see you

at this funeral

because it’s been

so long

since I saw you last

let’s take a picture

together

in memoriam

sure, this feels

kinda wrong, but

soon enough

it will all be gone

Like Every Selfie

Be kind about the names

Your friends give to their children

Praise their haircuts

Love their tattoos

It doesn’t really matter

If that’s what you would do

Like every selfie

All of them

Clap their songs

Cheer them on

You were born with a limitless

Supply of encouragements

Use every one of them

Don’t wait for the eulogies

To speak out loud

That your friends are precious

And they make you feel proud

Four

The Irrevocable Condition

Perhaps home is not a place but simply an irrevocable condition.

—James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room

The family is under attack! But not from a queer agenda or communist ploy. It is under attack from the weight of expectation for it to fulfill every emotional and material necessity of human beings. It is an onslaught of patriarchal isolationism.

A husband, a wife, kids. One boy, one girl. Balanced, as all families are told they have to be. A monogamous romantic relationship that is meant to fulfill all our emotional needs. Children whom we use to justify every decision to isolate under the guise of protection—and whom we are relying on to look after us as we get older. And is the family home simply a place to fill with stuff? Until we need a storage unit?

We have to admit and face the difficulties of modern, homogenous home life and the aching we feel in the communal and spiritual deficit we have created by prioritizing marriage and children as the only forms of interpersonal fulfillment. By all means, get married and have kids. I did. But don’t kid yourself that improving your family life will be the key to societal change.

Good families and good homes are not the goal. They are one solid foundation for children to blossom, and they are a playground for us all to learn commitment and forgiveness. But all that love and care isn’t meant to form perfect picture postcards—it is meant to go forth.

Typically, we don’t want it to go forth because people will find out the truth we work so hard to hide. We keep it all behind the IKEA curtains because, god forbid, people might actually see us for who we are. They’ll notice how our love doesn’t quite do the job, how our marriages are barely limping along, and how our parenting is more of an improv comedy sketch than a carefully curated lesson plan. Though this feels awful to reveal, it is actually a very healthy thing. The imperfect love my family has can fill some of the gaps in your family, and your imperfect love can fill some of the gaps in ours. But none of that can happen while we are all still pretending we have it all together.

To let those imperfections slip into the light is a necessary relief. And what you find when you let someone in on the chaos—when you admit that the love you give is far from perfect—is not a disaster zone but something else altogether: a place of real connection.

The Font

This kitchen sink, the font

of my home, where bread

pans soak & milk bottles

swill, where we wash paint pots

& brushes in the aftermath

of craft, where salad leaves

rinse to be rid of bugs & soil

where I clean the abrasions

of my working hands & all the blood

from the little cuts of constant use

in repetition & never-ending chore

I come to these sacred waters

daily to baptize the entirety of my holy life.

I Told the Peonies About You

I told the peonies about you

The orchids and dahlias too

They all said they were jealous

That I get to marvel at you

I told the peacocks and parrots

and they nodded in approval

Saying you are truly worthy

of the finest of plumes

I told the stars and they assured me

they had seen you out in your light

And that you were welcome to join them

to make bright the slate of night

I told God and she agreed

You are a wonder and an awe

And she lent me her words to tell you

just how beautiful you are

Pallbearing

I try to savor each moment

like we’re meant to

but moments are innumerable

& arrive relentless

The hours I wish would hurry

the years I wish would slow

I can never get the record

playing at the right speed

I want you to stay this age

making forts from cushions

chairs & old bedsheets

commandeering all the space

And I also long to be done

with all the clamber & chase

I want to reclaim

my living room

The noise you make

is a kind of music,

screamo, sure,

but you’ve made me hardcore

The final piggyback ride

before you got too big, neither of us

remember. We had no idea

it would be our last.

Where the Light Is Good

Let’s go where the light is good

to capture this moment of love

between us. It makes bright

your eyes and strong my chin.

My right arm will hold us

steady, your smile will show us

happy. Can you send it to me

now? I will make it

my background. You will illuminate

every time I check my phone,

which is all the way

through the long damn day,

even when the light becomes

just a memory in the dark.

The Variable

There is little in life

more impressive than when

a person faces

the toxic patterns

of familial pain

and the recurring tremors

of trauma

then summons the courage

to address

every faltering father

& aura of ancestor

with the words

the past could not muster:

“The cycle ends with me”

Dependents

Dear houseplant[*1]

I am very sorry

For watering[*2] you

Too much

Or too little

I’m uncertain which

Skip Notes

*1 child

*2 parenting

On Boundaries

I don’t set boundaries

to make seeing you difficult

but to make knowing you

possible

they are not a threat

they are an invitation

The Cat Has Gone

The cat has been gone

Six days now

So I list the possibilities:

Lost

Wounded

Dead to the cold

Dead to a predator

Taken in by a more caring family

All possibilities

Equally horrifying

Swear Jar

I said “fuck”

in front of my kids

and my youngest

implored me to pay

into the swear jar

however, I only had a ten

so I had to get my money’s worth

douchebag

dickhead

fuck

shit

fuck

shit

fuck

shit

balls

if the consequence for a crime

is only a fine

then it is only a crime

for the poor

Cherish These Years

Telling me I must

“cherish these years”

I have with my children

has never once made me

“cherish these years”

but it does make me feel guilty

that I do not adequately

“cherish these years”

perhaps tell me instead

how you can help.

Michelangelo

How do you get a toddler

to eat a broccoli floret?

Or a little kid to tie their shoes

& leave the house on time?

Or teach a tween

to be mindful of others?

Or coax a moody teenager

to talk to you at all?

Creativity!

Being a parent

is the most creative calling on earth

so if you feel

like you have no energy or ideas

for anything else at all

it is because every single day

you are painting

a freakin’ Sistine Chapel

Playing Favorites

Picking your favorite Bowie album

is like picking your favorite child—

it’s an unfair & impossible task

yet I have an answer for both.

Tell Me Again

When my child comes around

to tell me all about

the latest evolution

of some or other Pokémon

& I am too tired & grumpy

to care to listen

I try to remember that intimacy

is not all hugs & emotion

it is also the sharing of our selves

the who & what

& why of our selves

this makes them happy

so the choice is mine

whether I want to receive

the love they choose to give

Cicadas

If I had a button

That I could simply press

To take away your autism

I wouldn’t press it

But if I could click my fingers

To understand how

You look upon the world

(As uniquely as you do)

I would click them so fast

& so often it would sound

Like an army of cicadas

Who Wears the Pants in Your Relationship?

Ideally,

neither of us.

Love Is an Observable Phenomenon

Love is an observable phenomenon

like teardrops in a paper cup

& leaving people

better than you found them

Love cannot be parsed

into five languages—

your heart is a dialect

entirely of its own

You are a disco ball

& when the light hits you

a hundred rays

bejewel the room

Your name is a loanword from Avalon

I study your freckles

like Magi study the stars

your body is my scripture

I join the dots of your moles

like I am writing calligraphy

between the bars

of all our busyness

I love the urgency of your beauty

your steel constitution

the emergency of your desire

your tender energies

I kiss your neck

with the softness of a whisper

I chase your tongue—

listening as you speak

I don’t want to wake you

so I shower in the dark

& close the door

as gentle as I can.

Holy Mother

I see you

with your world in your arms

one life begets another

I see you

blood given

body stretched

and on occasion broken

but not like porcelain in pieces

like bread you’re tearing open

I see you

with your heart outside your chest

still beating, swaddled at your breast

I see you

and this is why I must

worship God as Mother

Protection Racket

So you want to protect your wife?

I can applaud that

Protection is a form of care

But will you protect her dreams?

Support her career

Shield her free time

Guard her hobbies

Prioritize her mental health

Fortify her independence

Bolster her creativity

Ensure her agency

Defend her bodily autonomy

Even from yourself?

If not, then your protection

is just a racket

You Got This

“You got this”

the influencer tells me

as I hide from my children

in the bathroom again

& consider my inadequacy

as both a parent

& a functional adult

so I scroll down

“You are enough”

doesn’t quite cut it

when I am all out of time

out of money

out of patience

& the only abundance

in my house is screen time

so I keep scrolling

“You are a child of God”

I read upon the throne

of my toilet seat

& I wonder to myself

if he hides in the bathroom sometimes too?

Tell Me About Your Person

Tell me about your person

the one that you lost

the one that you miss

Tell me about their quirks

their habits & their tics

Tell me about their loves

their magic & their bliss

You don’t have to forget

or paper the cracks

Because grief & gratitude

are parallel tracks

For a train that doesn’t stop

So if your person is a part of you still

tell me their truth

I want to know them

because I want to know you

I Still Get to Be Yours

On the days when there is not

enough coffee in the pot

I still get to be yours

When our griefs are overlapping

like they’re a herringbone pattern

I still get to be yours

As the bags beneath our eyes

grow wrinkles at their sides

I still get to be yours

When the kids we made are shouting

When the dogs we bought are barking

When the baby goats are dying

When the friend we lost is lying

When the country is on fire

Inflation getting higher

And our troubles all are rhyming

I still get to be yours

Five

I Pour Out the Contents of My Notes App in an Attempt to Create Connection

A

Accretion

A commotion

A culture of consumption is a culture of destruction

Add to cart

Advocate for your own orgasms

Aggressive Normality

A hall of mirrors

All luck is rotten for someone

All pleasure is guilty pleasure if you have enough religious trauma

All that I know came after a lifetime of not knowing at all

All theology is fan theory

A menace to myself

A million cars idling

A reflection of a reflection

Asking questions increases user engagement

A weighted blanket

A withered mulberry bush

B

Back on my bullshit (as if I ever got off)

Behind a velvet curtain or a chiffon veil

Being late is not a moral failure

Be very careful today because I am taking everything personally

Boss battles

Brains can be bastards

Bread that doesn’t mold

Burnout epidemic

C

Carnations & darnations. I romanticize my life.

Celebrate everything you can

Change is never on the ballot

Chaos where there should be order

Cliques are good actually

Comment Section Blues

Compliance but let’s brand it as “Character”

Concertina

Contraband

D

De-escalation is an essential skill

Deflating the inflatable Santa

Dis-content creators

Do Not Resuscitate

Don’t abbreviate yourself for me

Don’t forget to like & subscribe

Doomscroll the gallery of human suffering

E

Envy is the thorn prick from a rose

Eventually there will be a year where I won’t see its winter

Every gas station is our canvas. Go paint.

Every tear is a memory

Everything costs so much, it’s almost worthless

Everything the light touches

F

Faith is a shattered jar

Filters can’t hide exhaustion if you are tired in your very soul

Flesh is only borrowed dust

Full like a child’s pocket

G

Genesis is my favorite creation myth

Get good at goodbyes. You will not regret it.

GGs is a way of life

Ghost notes

God made me in his image and I returned the favor

Gonzo Theology

H

Headphone bleed

“He’s one shot” is my favorite lie

Hope is always on the brink

Hunched over a stool at an upright, as the last piano hit rings into silence

Hydrate or Die is not hyperbole

I

I am not alone if I’m able to recall what I mean to you

I don’t feel like leaving anymore

I don’t know any of the special moves, I’m just mashing buttons

I expected more from a poet

I know why they call it “a nervous system”

In shards

In the early sleep where the first dreams die

I resent having to drive everywhere

I try to make the last bite the best

It’s not chaos if you know what you want

It’s not doomscrolling if the doom is reality

I will never know what anyone thinks of me

I would swap all the hustle in the world for one drop of true patience

J

Janice was a better person than all the FRIENDS

Jesus said don’t worry, not don’t care

Joy isn’t always a choice, but when it is, choose it

Judgment is the enemy of kindness

K

Knee. Jerk. Reaction.

L

Laminate me, o god

Let strangers see you cry

Let’s just say you love me

Life is a buddy comedy where you die at the end

“Lived experience” is a tautology

Living from one beverage to the next

Love wins, but first it loses

M

Make me incomplete, by which I mean: keep the hunger alive

Mid-frequencies

Minimalism is the hatred of children

Mistakes I don’t regret

Mo money, mo problems (they are just the problems you want to have)

My kid calls him “Jesus Crisis”

N

Nobody needs a second job, they need justice

Not every contradiction is a hypocrisy

Not fully known, like magnetism or mushrooms

Nothing hurts like realizing your high school bully became a better person

Nothing personal

No trees left to burn

No tv static, just lag

O

Often you cannot hold the truth in a way that doesn’t hurt

Only missing white girls make the news

Only the living have stories, songs, and scars

Order where there should be chaos

Our needs do not become valid only when we become productive

P

Pecking cheeks in passing

Pick your painkiller

Pidgin

Podgy

Poems that are slogans

Poems that are soundbites

Police violence is just the cost of doing business

Pretending to care is often a form of caring

Pumpkin spice is not a personality, but neither is hating it

Q

Queering the multi-verse

R

Ramshackle

Reading everything in Dark Mode

Red Hat is an anagram of hatred

Run-of-the-mill dystopias

S

Sacrilege

Self-made trillionaire

Sob stories

Some rejections are mercies

Spitting scripture like the Devil in the wilderness

Subterranean Homesick Influencer

T

Tantamount to love

The beauty of an ugly cry

The child surpasses the father

The Devil’s Lyre

The gods we make for ourselves

The hard part isn’t getting free, it’s staying free

The lynching tree, a southern cross

The news is never all bad, only what they show

The racists will be fine. That’s the tragedy of it

There are some deaths that don’t kill you

There is no such thing as ethical consumption

The smell before it rains

The span of life between suffering & boredom

The universe was born in love

They will go as far as we will let them

Time constraints

To enjoy the magic you have to suspend your disbelief

Too good not to share

TV made us docile, scrolling makes us paranoid

U

Undulation

Unreliable narrators

Until we are all free

Untitled playlists

V

Victims of time & money

W

Waist Management

“Waste not, want not” I did not waste, yet I still wanted

We all live overseas

We are ronin, not ruled by master, but by code

Wedlock? Gross.

We go wherever we feel safe

We’ve either all seen God or none of us have

Whatever gets you through

Whatever you can name, no longer controls you

When life gives you demons, make demonade

When people ask me about trauma, I tell them about you

When we love we feel our most immortal

Whiskey in the milk

Whiteness is theft

Why can’t you say the words I want to hear?

Wiseacre

Workaday

World-forming

X

Xanax side effects include dizziness, changes in sex drive, & loquaciousness

Y

You are somebody else’s heretic

You can’t have momentum—you are momentum

“Youth” is dying at a pace you can’t perceive

Six

The Tree Remembers What the Axe Forgets

The axe forgets; the tree remembers.

—an African proverb

I remember the day we sat down as a church staff, and we were told that we were going to start measuring everything. Not just the attendance numbers for Sunday services, but every event, every ministry. A metric for this, a percentage for that. The volunteers would be numbers, the members would be numbers, and of course, the unsaved would be entered into a database. They didn’t phrase it that way, of course, but it was clear.

I dissented and paraphrased Goodhart’s law, which says that “when a measure becomes a target, it loses its effectiveness as a measure.” None of the leaders knew what I was talking about. I had the sinking feeling that we were becoming rats in a maze, learning how to get the cheese, learning how to manipulate the numbers instead of caring about the actual names and lives attached to them.

It’s a strange thing, living in a system that asks you to quantify the unquantifiable. To put a number on faith, on kindness, on the intangible web of human connection. All of us can read the right books, develop all the right principles—sustainability, social justice, compassion—and still find ourselves trapped in a world that rewards us for gaming the system, for making the right gestures while real progress slips further out of reach.

There is something grotesque about a system that claims to elevate humanity while quietly grinding us down, turning every act of rebellion into another act of compliance. The system persists not because it is strong, but because it convinces us that it’s the only way. Capitalism, consumerism, neoliberalism—whatever name you give it—the effect is the same. You start to believe you’re moving forward, but it’s a treadmill, and you’re just getting tired.

And now the mantra is that we should take care of ourselves. Self-care, as if the problem is just us. Vitamins, water bottles with inspirational quotes, step counters on our wrists. Trying to become so busy monitoring our own wellness that we forget the world is on fire. We meditate, we do yoga, we drink our green juices and try to convince ourselves that we have a modicum of control. These things are a way to cope with the fact that we can’t actually stop the system from slowly suffocating us. It is an insistence on individual well-being while the collective well-being crumbles around us. But we cannot keep performing wellness in a hellscape.

Most empires fall when they are devoured by another, when a greater force overcomes them. But what is unique about capitalism is that it teaches us to devour each other. It feeds on us until there is nothing left to consume. The system persists by pitting us against one another, convincing us that our worth is tied to our output, that scarcity is inevitable, and that success requires competition rather than collaboration. It thrives as long as we keep playing by its rules, blind to the damage it inflicts on us and the planet. And it will only end when there is nothing left—when we’ve devoured ourselves, leaving nothing behind but the charred remnants.

I feel stuck in a rhythm that is not my own, driven by a system that thrives on perpetual motion and constant productivity. Even something as simple as going for a walk to clear my head feels like it needs a destination, a purpose. Why can’t I just walk? Why must everything be productive, even my relaxation? The problem is terminal.

Sometimes I wonder if we have forgotten who we are. I look at the charismatic leaders, the politicians, the activists who once promised a better world, and I wonder if they remember. Or if, like so many before them, they’ve been swallowed by the very system they swore to dismantle. And then I wonder if it’s happening to me too. If it already has. I’ve seen people I love transformed into something they never wanted to be—cogs in a machine they once railed against. And I wonder in what ways I have stopped railing and started accepting.

The axe forgets itself. But the tree remembers. I remember the sharp sting of each blow, each small compromise that felt like nothing at the time but became everything. And now I am here, watching the trees fall, watching the world we hoped for slip further away. But I also know that remembering is a kind of resistance. There is still hope in the act of remembering, hope that we won’t become the axe, that we won’t lose ourselves completely to a system that devours.

Apathy is the first enemy. It is the soul killer, dulling our senses until we stop caring, until we stop trying. But in a world like this, generating enough empathy to fight back the apathy can feel like an impossible task.

Sometimes the only antidote to apathy is anger.

The Problem of Happiness

People say “money doesn’t make you happy”

but we know that is nonsense

it definitely makes you happy

every pay rise

tax rebate

birthday card with cash

made me happy

it made me happy

until it didn’t

the problem

is not the money

it’s the happiness

it glitters

but doesn’t stick

that is why I don’t seek happiness

I seek joy

because joy is not the outcome of getting everything you desire

it is knowing that to desire at all

is to be totally alive

Today Is the Fourth of July

Today is the Fourth of July and half those stripes & all those stars are white. The rest is blood and sky. Today is the Fourth of July and if America has any greatness it was built upon the labor of slaves, the toil of the underclass and the continually underpaid & unpaid work of women. The founding slaveholders had some big ideas but ideas can’t be kept in shackles; they belong to everyone. Today is the Fourth of July and the only real freedom is the freedom to consume and Joey Chestnut wears the crown. Today is the Fourth of July and there are two Americas: one for Tamir Rice & another for Kyle Rittenhouse. Or perhaps the latter requires the former and there is just one America. Today is the Fourth of July and that flag fitfully blows, of snow & ocean & wilting roses, it half conceals and half discloses.

It Takes a Village

It takes a village

but there are no villages out here

only suburbs

& endless city

only ghost towns

where the bonfires burn low

& the barns are no longer raisin’

& the rusted water towers lean.

Where are we to go?

There is no “where” I can see

I can only see “how”—

Will you be my village?

Email Unto Others

Email unto others

as you would have them

email unto you

(rarely

& only delightful things)

If Your Dream Only Includes You, It’s Too Small

(After Ava DuVernay)

An eagle in flight is such

a magnificent sight. No doubt

about that. Nothing seems as free.

But I don’t want to be an eagle.

I want to be a starling. To traverse

the skies in stunning murmuration

I want you & I & all our people

to swoop & soar. Together we can

grace the sky in concert & dance

None are free until all are free.[*]

I don’t dream of the grandeur of flight—

I dream of a world without cages.

Skip Notes

* “None are free until all are free” is an approximation of a quote from Emma Lazarus.

Living Is Always This Instant

From the exit of the highway

I peek at the Blue Ridge mountains scenery

Obscured by all the gas signs

Those 30-foot monstrosities

Selling petrol for SUVs

Selling Slim Jims and blue Powerade

Why sell anything edible?

You’ll only vomit anyway

Living is always this instant

From the hotel room downtown

I can walk to all the upscale bars

Turning up their microphones

To drown out the humming of idle cars

Selling domestics and one IPA

Selling barely alcoholic cocktails

Who gives a damn about value

On the backside of the working day

Living is always this instant

From the police line by the stadium

The civic tanks meet protest

A diverse force for the cameras

While the people live in unrest

Selling bluelines to the gullible

Stealing black flags from guerrillas

Policing nothing but the property

Of the city’s major donors

Living is always this instant

From the talk show on the radio

To pimped out televisions

The wagging tongues and tidy lips

Of the puffed-up politicians

Selling promises of this and that

Selling hatred by the truckload

Claiming they can build the future

As if they didn’t shit the bedroom

Living is always this instant

In the Name of Convenience

We drive thru the coffee shop

the pharmacy & the bank

because no conversation

is convenient

We buy furniture from IKEA

made of chipboard

destined for a landfill

because no creation

is convenient

We buy new clothes

instead of sewing up seams

we like our fashions fast

because no craft

is convenient

We make playlists

& find podcasts

to get our spiritual fixes

because no church

is convenient

We sacrifice so much for our convenience

Yet everything remains

Almost impossible

Trust Falls Are Easy

Trust falls are easy

because there are very few people

in life who want to see you

break your back.

Of course your boss is going to catch you.

They don’t want to be sued.

But will they give you healthcare?

Maternal leave for newborns?

Parental leave for old-borns?

Dignity? Basic human dignity?

It’s not your back they are willing to break:

It’s your spirit.

Impotence

I want to hug my children tonight because I love them and not because I am relieved they were not killed in this week’s mass school shooting. I want to look at them with tear-filled eyes of tenderness for their own beautiful beings and not because I know this country could rip them from me at any moment. I want my little ones to see my love stemming from them alone and not because their father is haunted by the news; the news that doesn’t change; the news we could become.

World Series

Across the pond

we have all the same video games

and we despair

in all the same kind of ways

and we have our fair share

of mental illness

We take the same meds

Make the same music

Watch the same movies

Have all the same kind of fun

So what is the only difference?

By Jove, my Yankee cousin

It’s the motherfuckin’ guns

I Support the Troops

By which I mean I hate war

And every pretense

Generals and politicians

Coax the poorest kids

Out of their hometowns

To kill the indigenous

Of foreign lands

To create new markets

Before the mothers

Watch their children

Buried under a flag

& six foot of stolen soil

With more guns in their salute

Than years on the planet

I would reassign every prodigal dollar

We lavish on murder machines

Into medical care

& mental health provision

For every Vet

In aeternum

And turn each bullet into a rivet

To build houses

& fix the bridges

Of our crumbling infrastructure

That so many of those soldiers

Are made to sleep under

So make no mistake, I support the troops.

Avocado Toast

It’s a fucking slice of fruit

On a fucking piece of bread

Not a lobster tail

At the fucking Ritz-Carlton

What the fuck do you want us to eat?

Your fucking crumbs?

Insatiable

The most difficult part

of helping the poor

is not calling

for the hungry

to be fed

but for the wealthy

to be content

Sheep & Goats

There are those

Who struggle

To earn

And those

Who struggle

To share

I know which I’d rather be

On the day of judgment

This Is Not a Race

This is not a race

and you are not a straggler

because what you do

& who you date

& where you live

is not a competition

all the markers

given to you

for the story of your life

don’t actually exist

but you do—

your vibrant being

& precious days

the time is yours

so stroll through this life

no faster than

the pace of your pleasure

Optimistic

I’m reaching for notes

I can’t really hit

I’m wearing favorite clothes

That no longer quite fit

I’m planting up trees

For fruit I won’t eat

I’m dancing too awkwardly

Just a touch off the beat

I’m raising up kids

On a planet that’s warming

I’m still eating cheese

With a cholesterol warning

This is the way I’m choosing to live

Alive with no shame and no fucks to give

Hope Is Nocturnal

Hope is nocturnal

It comes from the light

But does not belong there

Preferring the darkness

To sharp brightness

For it has no purpose

Where hearts will believe

Happily what they see

So it makes a home

In the deep shadows

Where it waits to be found

By those who need it most.

Seven

Soft Fascination

I grew up in London so I am familiar with gray skies and the constant threat of rain. But even an English upbringing did not prepare me for living for three years in Belfast, Northern Ireland, where it rains three hundred–plus days a year—a city surrounded by hills of deep green and cloaked in gray.

In 2011, I moved to Florida where it is forever summer. Where you wear shorts on Christmas Day. Where SPF saved me daily from lobstering my daisy white skin. If you have children in Florida, it is damn near impossible to survive without a pool. We didn’t have a pool. Perhaps the thing I found strangest about living in North Florida is that there is no autumn or fall. The trees shed their leaves whenever they feel like it. Whenever they get dry or a bit bored. The gutters need clearing all year round.

My experiences in mono-climate environments have taught me that I need the seasons. I have a near spiritual need to witness the cycles of life. I need snow and I need spring. I need to see things bloom and I need to see them die. And as I get older, I even appreciate the winter more. It is less of a sensual assault than the summer.

Octavia Butler says “God is change.” I feel the truth in that as I experience the seasons. While it is hard to watch the garden wither in the late autumn, I am glad to see the weeds die. I tire of digging up pokeweed roots and trimming the ragweed. Everything grows in the North Carolina summer; not all of it is good. And though the winter brings us less to harvest, it is easier on my body. Spring is a joy. Fall is a panorama of claret & gold.

I used to be the cliché that would say “I always double the garlic in a recipe.” No recipe was ever garlicky enough for my tastes. That was until we grew our own. The garlic we grow is ten times more potent than what we bought in the store. The yolks in the eggs from our chickens are orange. You could never mistake them for yellow. Everything we make is richer and stronger and better. The world I was given is a specter of what it should be.

I am still deeply romantic for the great cities of the world, but a tangible connection to the living seasons is essential for my mental health and my soul. I understand why some people would rather live in a park than a shelter.

If the physical world is the transfer of energy, then the spiritual world is the transfer of attention. To observe and participate in nature is to tend to your mind, body, and soul.

Appreciating the natural world needs to be more than the occasional sunset pic. And caring for it has to be more than a paper straw.

To live with the names of native trees, birds, and plants unknown to you—you may as well be passing through a foreign country with no language at all. There is a peace in knowing the name of the oak that shades your backyard, or the cardinal that flits between the branches. This knowledge reminds us that we’re a part of a larger order—a delicate ecosystem that exists whether you notice it or not. To know the name of a thing is the first step toward caring for it, for we cannot protect what remains anonymous to us.

Despite our ignorance, looking after these things is not grand or dramatic—it’s a matter of noticing, of joining the rhythms already in motion. When you learn the life cycle of a butterfly or understand the migratory path of the birds that rest on your windowsill, the world becomes less about your immediate crises and more about the totality of life that lives beyond our anxieties. The small acts of nurture, whether it’s planting native species or leaving space for wildflowers to flourish, create a reciprocal relationship between you and the land. You grow from being simply a resident in passing to the seat of custodian.

We talk a lot about being “centered” or “grounded.” Yet there is nothing more grounding and humbling than having your knees in the soil with a seed and a dream. Then having your dream eaten by a jackrabbit. And then picking up your trowel and dreaming once again. It is desperately human.

Soft Fascination

Alive, I am walking through old trees

that feel as healing as balm or prayer

I catch aromas of heather & pine

slowing the pulse of thought & progress

The pendulum within slows its ceaseless swing

between the overwhelm of task & labor

& the underwhelm of chronic boredom

I must pay attention to what I cannot possess

I glimpse the morning moon in the clearing

of bright bluebells and stop, flower-rapt

I am awake in a forest of being—

changing nothing here but where I tread

I name the sights, I name the smells

I name the sounds of nightingales,

warblers, the wind in the leaves,

a distant, young child & the brook

I am only moving where my body goes

no automobiles, no aeroplanes

that throw me wherever I am told

I have to be

It seems to me that I could become rooted here

my feet sinking into the earth to belong

but also, that I could leave

to soar with the goshawks

So it is

to be human

Receiving the world in soft fascination

to rediscover ourselves;

our nature, our supernature,

& the spirit that animates our fragile existence

Eat the Seasons

In spring, we pluck the tender greens

asparagus spears & artichokes

everything the frost couldn’t steal

is a foretaste of what is to come

the earth moves to bud & bloom

in the first days of the coming light

we eat the seasons while they’re ripe

In summer, we pick the succulent fruits

peaches & cherries & peppers

all the berries from the bush

for they are here for little longer

than a cycle of the moon

on the longest day & shortest night

we eat the seasons while they’re ripe

(It must be said—eating a tomato out of season is a sin against nature and in defiance of God)

In autumn, we don’t miss a beet

or pear or persimmon or pumpkin

this is the time of harvest

to pickle & preserve

to help get us through the cold

the earth has enough if we’re willing to learn

we eat the seasons in their turn

In winter, we pick the hardy greens

lacinato kale & kohlrabi

brussels for the holy days

when we are most grateful

for everything we are given

on the shortest day & longest night

we eat the seasons while they’re ripe

A Lessening

I do not plan to start anew

in January

that is for spring

this is the night

in the dead of winter

where I pare back excess

to reach the bones of my life

so when I am reborn

I am reborn as only

my most essential nature

January

I don’t want to leave the warmth

of the bed to get into the shower

I don’t want to leave the warmth

of the shower for the icy bathroom tiles

Pretty snow

becomes shitty sludge

It’s the slowest month

after the quickest year

Looking forward (hope)

Looking forward (anxiety)

Picking up everything

I put off

Asking the big questions

Not liking the big answers

Stew and soup and broth

Everything cooked

in the same old pot

You Must Believe in Spring

You must believe in spring

As the pine mulch

Keeps the warmth

In the earth

Back and forth

Carbon, diamond, coal

Cloud, rain, thirst

Everything is always returning

Like a hero from battle

Back to the beginning

Even the evergreens

Die in their time

So you must believe in spring

Now and Not Yet

Caught between the seasons

of winter and spring

is that snowflakes or blossoms

that float on the wind?

morning cold & evening warm

outfit plans are pure folly

newness arrives with a chill

like my favorite kind of melancholy

a strange revelation

to find in meditation—

it is colder on the days

when the sky is sheer blue.

Does a Tree Deserve to Grow?

Does a bird deserve to fly?

Or a fish deserve to swim?

That’s how ridiculous we sound

Whenever we ask

“Do I deserve to be loved?”

You were created for love,

It’s the reason you are here—

To give love & receive it.

It is your purpose.

“Deserve” doesn’t come into it.

Curse These Minutes

Curse these minutes

and damn these clocks

to think of life in units

of hours & minutes

is like talking about a newborn

as atoms & cells

it tells you nothing

of what it is

give me the days

of dawns & dusks

give me the months

of cycles & moons

give me the years

of summers & springs

of winters & falls

of solstice & equinox

but curse these minutes

and damn these clocks

Clemency

We need a new word

for enjoying the unseasonal

clement weather while also

feeling the creeping despair

of climate catastrophe.

Perhaps the Finnish

already have a word?

Others realize these things

long before the land of the free.

While we are just staring

at the crest of a volcano

pretending the ending

isn’t written in lava.

Embedded

I came across a metal sign

hung on a tree

that over time

became embedded

into the wood

bark engulfed

the foreign notice

until what was alien & what was natural

were indistinct

like how the grief we swallow

in sips & gulps

absorbs into our being

it fails to catch the eye

of a passerby

but for those who stop

and stare, they will see

something that wasn’t always there

Indoorsy

Spend a sunny day

indoors, if you want

and feel no shame

for reading a book

or playing games

or napping in your bed

all of this—is life as well

and you are as wild

as anything out there

Rewilding

I don’t mow anymore

because of the gas & the noise

& the heat & the death

to the pollinators & their habitats

& because I care less now

about what neighbors think

but so much more

for our earth & her lifeforms

& her rugged greenery

& what we cannot let die

on our watch. I won’t be

mowing Eden to inches

to feel like I am a god.

Made of Stone

A hot stone

to steam the sauna

a cold stone

to mill the flour

a rough stone

to smith the sword

a smooth stone

to skim the lake

There is no such thing as a wasted life

Legacy

Take my ashes and scatter

them at some allotment

or vegetable plot

I don’t want to be buried

in a graveyard

forgotten

Instead it would be an honor

to become compost for a squash

destined to splatter

a toddler face

and bib

and high chair

and hopefully he eats enough

To fill his small belly

so he may enter

a long night of slumber

Then his mother may know

peace of her own

That would be

some elegy

Winter’s Insistence

The leaves have fallen into the earth

alongside my romantic notions

of changing seasons

just the starkness remains to teach me

But I don’t want hard lessons

I want leaves

beauty with ease

not winter’s insistence

that I learn to grow

every single year

to see the world anew

& yet, somehow,

I always do.

Eight

I Must Also Feel It as a Man

I have had to overcome a number of personal shortcomings on the journey toward emotional health. Firstly, I am a cis man and there are only two emotions we are permitted to express in our culture: we can be angry, and we can be horny. That is all. I also had a Christian upbringing so the anger had to be righteous and the horniness had to be wed. To add to that cocktail, I grew up lower-class in England where every hint of emotion, even the socially sanctioned ones, was treated with great suspicion by the middle classes looking down on us. Any hint of feeling is seen as a breach of decorum, a sign of indignity. To strive for my own emotional competence, for emotional honesty, has felt as rebellious as anything I’ve done in my life.

—

In the 1980s a couple of biologists named Robert Sapolsky and Lisa Share followed a troop of wild baboons in Kenya. They witnessed the alpha males eating regularly from a garbage dump, which they refused to allow the weaker males and females to eat from. They wanted the food all to themselves, at the expense of the rest of the troop. Over time, infected meat in the garbage pile caused the death of most of the adult males, including all the alphas who had bullied the entire pack.

Eventually, aggression all but vanished from the troop. The young males that survived were raised entirely by the females and the weaker males who were left. With less need for aggressive policing of resources, everyone spent more time grooming and taking care of one another. The culture changed overnight. The pack even developed a self-policing strategy to shun the young males that flirted with aggression. The scientists termed it “the no-asshole rule.”

—

I have learned that my feelings happen constantly and often without explanation, pattern, or sense of reason. Emotions, in all their unpredictability and intensity, hold immense power over my actions and perceptions. Paying attention to our interior life is not just the work of poets and therapists. Our feelings are our lives. They are our reality. We cannot neglect them. We must recognize them, like the ornithologist notices the birds, common and rare. We must choose which ones to feed. And then watch as they all, eventually, fly away from the porch.

In Macbeth, Macduff grapples with profound grief upon learning of his family’s brutal murder, prompting Malcolm to urge him to confront the harrowing news and “dispute it like a man.” Macduff replies, “I shall do so. But I must also feel it as a man.” The temptation is always to respond before we truly feel.

When obstacles come across our path, the immediate impulse is to react swiftly, to exert our will upon the world. While there are instances where such assertiveness is warranted, most everyday encounters necessitate a deeper connection with our internal emotional landscape. To understand that human existence is intrinsically woven with an intricate tapestry of feelings, requiring a heightened awareness of the nuances and depths of our emotional experiences. Our hearts demand our attention.

You might say, but isn’t it action that changes the world? Shouldn’t we be focused on doing, not feeling? And you’d be right, to a point. But if we want to create a more compassionate world, a world where empathy and kindness aren’t just slogans, then we have to start with ourselves. You cannot create what you do not understand. And if you don’t have compassion for yourself, how will you offer it to others? Rumi was right—“You think yourself just a drop within the ocean, but you are also the ocean in a drop.”

—

The first question asked by a person in the Bible is by Cain in the book of Genesis. He asks, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” Men have tended to answer this question in the negative, and that, sadly, is how the human race has fared. We have to start answering this primary question differently.

Emotional competence can no longer be optional, least of all in our leaders. It must be cultivated intentionally, in our communities and in our homes. We need our own “no-asshole rule.” And then, perhaps, a single generation of emotional awakening—especially in men—may change the current course of fractured humanity.

Staying in Shape

I cannot fold again

To fit into whatever

Compartment is most

Convenient for you

To keep me in—

Not even a little

At the edges or corners

Because every crease

Hurts like a betrayal.

The life within me

Must live to its fullness

So you shall have to understand—

This is the shape that I am.

Men Are Conditioned…

Dry skin

Ingrown toenails

Ingrown hairs

Ignoring the aches

Disregarding the pains

Working in silence

Walking it off

Keeping it quiet

Playing it tough

Keeping the dentist away

Keeping the doctor at bay

Convinced this is some

Kind of righteous sacrifice

But for a sacrifice to work

You have to first believe that

Your life is something

Worth giving away

Speak Freely

“I am sorry”

“I was wrong”

“I don’t know”

“I’ve changed my mind”

“I need help”

These are the words

of someone who is free

Stay Strong

They say to “stay strong”

in the throng of disaster

so I let my body unravel

all its secrets of magic & memory

so that joy & sorrow & terror

& love bleed like watercolors

together at the edges

of their vivid hues

falling into serendipity

because to feel it all is to surrender

& not all surrender is loss

so I let everything live within me

like the galaxy I am

because I cannot imagine

anything stronger than the courage to live

like we are fully alive

Nomenclature

Before you set your goals

say what it is

that you really want

say it out loud

with your full chest

and, if you can,

why you want it

name the fortunes that entice

name the feelings that arise

name the fears that lie

in waiting

name it all to ensure

that you don’t live

to serve your goals

but your goals

live in service to you

I Want You to Know Where This Anger Comes From

I want you to know where this anger comes from

because it is not born from fear or hatred

as you may have misconstrued. No, it rises

from the most tender part of me, where I love

the deepest and care the most, it is soft

like magma under the earth’s crust but when

I am moved and fractured like tectonic plates

shifting, the surface gives way to a molten

indignation that is not self-righteous rage

but compassion ignited, my kindness ablaze.

Sensitive Content

This poem may contain sensitive content

It’s me.

I’m the sensitive content.

I’m Still Singing

I was the only boy in the school choir

fated to sing the “Once in Royal David’s City” solo

I never considered doing what you love

to be rebellious. I didn’t know men had to be

afraid like that.

I learned the parts

elevation in harmony

tension in countermelody

I became the tenor at church for weddings

with ruffle & melody & red face,

watching the men mumble the hymns.

I am still singing

when no one else

knows the words.

You Are Not a Warrior. You Are a Beginner.

After Guile defeats Ken

in Street Fighter 2

he tells the vanquished

“Go home and be a family man.”

Doesn’t he know

that is the hardest fight of all?

I Am Not Your Cup of Tea

I am not your cup of tea

because I am made too strong

and frankly, too hot

for you to enjoy

maybe you can tolerate me

in tiny sips but I don’t want

to be tolerated. I want to be

devoured by those who value

all I am and who do not wish

I was in any way watered down

to meet your tepid tastes.

Like Marrow

There are some sorrows

that become a part of you

like marrow

they run through your bones

so you no longer speak

of “healing” them

because that would leave you

lifeless

so they age with you

grow with you

recede with you

and in that way

they too shall pass

with you

back to the dust

Autobots & Decepticons

All pain is transformed

either into meaning

as beauty & growth

or as malignance aimed

towards other people

You may not be responsible

for the source of your pain

but you are responsible

for everywhere it goes

Flower Power

What a world it is that insists

a man, such as I am, can never

appreciate a marigold

as if to love a flower

is a frailty to be cured

a queerness to be ridiculed

a sign that “real men”

are not long for this age

and the world without

a retrograde masculinity

will collapse into oblivion

But if I can tear down a patriarchy

just by holding a flower

then that is the power of God

made perfect in weakness.

I Cannot Play It Cool

I cannot play it cool

while the world is on fire

I play it earnest

I play it heart-on-sleeve

and that heart is bleeding

I play it speak-what-you-want

I play it say-what-you-mean

I play it aching & hungry

I play it con affetto

I leave the affected coolness

to the rigid & afraid

I Am a Promise I Have to Keep

The most consistent lie

I tell myself

is that next week

won’t be as busy

but it’s guaranteed

to be that way

if I keep saying “yes”

to everyone but me

Some Nights I Don’t Return

Some nights I don’t return

to myself. Though I always try

to make it back. The stage door is

ajar. They say, life is a journey

but I know it as comings & goings.

A dog chases its own tail

but only bites it once. Yet

round & round it goes.

Is it instinct or stupidity

or hope? And what is the difference?

If you stand still

the buried things rise

like a million worms demanding attention

in intricate patterns

And even if I make it back to myself

the amber glow of nostalgia

colors perception

clouding the present

obscuring the door

It makes sense to call this

a crisis, but it is actually

a choice:

dance with my shadow

or sink into my bones?

A Real Shock

The real shock

is not finding out

what people really think

of you

but in finding out

how seldom they do—

you are more free

than you realize.

Felt Cute

Felt cute

will probably delete later

not because I will be

any less cute

but because I will feel

un-cute

and feelings

are much harder to delete

than pictures

Accommodation

I’m fine

you choose

no worries

if not

don’t mind

either way

whatever

whenever

wherever is

most convenient

for you

pretend I am

not even here

A Thousand Little Deaths

And when you wake from the thousandth little death:

What awaits you? Eternal rest? A new body? Valhalla?

No, just the prospect of dying a thousand times more.

So why do we keep going?

Because learning how to die well

is how you learn to live.

Bittersweet

Being grateful

is not an antidote

to feeling sad

but like a dollop of honey

into burnt coffee

it helps with the bitterness

The Goldfinch

Under the knotted oak in the garden

I would place things to be found

or returned to, in some imagined future.

I filled an old Roses tin with trinkets & toys.

I clawed deep to pile the loamless clay

upon the metal coffin.

Later, I dug

an adjacent plot to plant the body

of a fledgling goldfinch.

I found it fallen from a nest

a carcass in the grass

a thousand songs that never were.

In my dreams, I am always younger,

never older.

Everything we bury, we bury at our roots.

Nine

Haunted & Exhausted

The worst church experience I’ve ever had was also the most curated. It was at a megachurch in Southern California on a Saturday afternoon, the first of the seven weekend services. I doubt that there was a single difference in the subsequent six repetitions. The campus was set out like a theme park sprawl. Fifty percent parking lot. We were greeted by a company of professional welcomers who carried the charm and aura of car salesmen.

After the choreographed music and invocations to give money, a famous fella from Colorado Springs delivered a sermon about addiction. The climax of the talk was the revelation of his own personal struggle with an addictive substance: coffee. That’s the confession of a sexual deviant if ever I’ve heard one. As an encore, you could get baptized, if that’s the vibe you were feeling.

I am exhausted by hollow experiences in religious institutions; turned off by both megachurch phoniness and the new-age influencer grift. I am tired of pastors who dine with megadonors and not the dying. I am exhausted by churches where love is a sermon preached to ten thousand amens—all while queer folk are told they can never fall into the magic of love themselves.

Yet, I am haunted by how grateful I am for all this life and how that gratitude demands for me to send it somewhere. The best address I have to send the gratitude to is what I can only name as God.

I am exhausted by endless dry-mouth theologizing instead of a living faith. I’m not interested in tearing everything down for the sake of catharsis or philosophical superiority, but all the pedestals need toppling, even the one I sit on now. I crave a faith that breathes, that moves, that serves—something real, not simply analyzed and criticized to the point of sterilization. Deconstruction is often more of the same. It is helpful to the extent it breaks down everything that hinders us from being more compassionate. Beyond that? I am a skeptic.

I am haunted by the man from Galilee who was friends with sex workers and spent his life in conflict with political & religious leaders. A man who tells me to let the dead bury the dead. Who tells me his sufferings are my sufferings. And that mine are his. A man who reassures me that my feet deserve to be washed and that I should wash the feet of others. A man who knows the only way to find life is to fully embrace the inevitability of death.

I am exhausted by all the work I have to do just to translate spiritual jargon to decipher who is genuine, who is deluded, and who is a shyster. I am tired of “fauxnerability” and the weaponizing of therapy-speak to coddle narcissists. I am exhausted by mission funds, vision Sundays, and the tithing grift. I am so tired of vampiric faith hustles of all persuasions. I am so tired of persuasion.

Yet, I am haunted by a Holy Ghost who gets a kick out of telling me “Yep, this is all wrong.” Who tells me not to abandon every spiritual practice, especially if I intend to resist. That I shouldn’t neglect to pray and fast and feast and sing and meditate and ruminate and confess. To bless the food I’m grateful for and read the verses that steel my soul. All of that can help me now because it has helped me before. Not because it is my duty or burden or the law, but because these things are wells that have already been dug. They hold water that has sated prophets, saints, heroines, & sages for centuries or more. Solitude is essential for the health of a soul, but the cure for institutional failure is not isolation.

All spiritual rebellion is an entirely communal maneuver. It is connected to the ancestors who preceded us and the generations to come. We reflect, yes, but we also gather. We show up for each other in churches, in mosques, in living rooms, around kitchen tables. We listen to each other’s stories, not as passive spectators, but as active participants in a shared struggle to understand, to transcend.

The myth in modern life is that we can find meaning on our own. That somehow, with enough books, enough meditation, enough self-discipline, we will unlock the mysteries of our existence, all from the safety of our own solitude. However, the divine—whatever name we give it—speaks most clearly in the spaces where our lives intersect, where we catch glimpses of ourselves in the lives of others. Healthy spirituality demands that we engage with the messy, imperfect, uncomfortable work of community. We must risk vulnerability, and disappointment. Lest the only voice of God we ever hear is the one inside our head.

A List of Spiritual Disciplines to Practice

Active contentment

Passive ambition

Generosity until it hurts

Reading something

people have feasted on for millennia

Writing something

only you can write

Minding your own business

Sharing your story

Keeping your promises

Fasting from a luxury

Feasting after the harvest

Breathing until your heart slows

Listening until you hear the truth

Love the One in Front of You

Love the one in front of you

store clerk, waitress

delivery man

love all the people that you can

& even those you think you can’t

trans barista

grumpy neighbor

tipsy MAGA aunt

learn people’s names & pronouns

& presume their pain is just as real

as anything that you can feel

& when you pass a cyclist

go by wide and slow

we are all in this together

so be gentle as you go

Sabbath Rest

Sabbath rest

is not slamming the brakes

until you screech to a stop

for a single day of pause

before revving up again

but setting your tempo of being

to the lapping of the waves

upon the patient shore

so the rhythm of nature

matches the rhythm of your life—

remembering that you are nature as well.

They/Them

(dedicated to Nex Benedict)

If God created night & day

& dawn, of course

& dusk

& the tangerine rosepink sunset

& the deep amethyst twilight

& the infant bright of morning

then to perceive the world in binary

is to forgo knowledge of the divine.

Pipeline

There are many

who used to say

“God told me…”

who now say

“My therapist told me…”

to justify doing

what they want to do

eventually you must dare

to fix your own name

to your desires

Inerrancy

I keep the canon of Psalms incomplete

to accept a creative chaos that cannot

be brought into proper order. Godsong

springs surprise in the most familiar settings.

If I can see the magenta spirals bursting forth

from the dogwood branches, then all is not certain

& if bubblegum-colored corolla complements, nay

contrasts, the blue steel of Carolina sky,

then completion is still a ways away,

enough to ponder it, at least. Under what authority

can you say such things? It is the higher power,

the highest power, found in fallen petals, and dirt.

A Little Faith

My faith is a tempest:

unyielding, devout

sultry, nuanced

achingly beautiful

skeptical, unsure

downtrodden

outright rebellious

broke when faithful

godless when flush

ephemeral

a wedding

Flannery O’Connor

Stevie Wonder,

Rothko, Sufjan

Ocean Vuong

a faith

thrice denied

twice alive

though I might be

underselling it to you

just a little.

Fuck Your Starry Sky

Fuck your starry sky

my friend just died

Pin pricks of light

Are not going to cut it

I need you to slice the sky open

And where is the moon tonight?

And why, when it has gone,

Do we call it new?

Is it the invisible phase?

Right now, I would swap

All the transcendent wonder

I have ever known

To touch with trembling hand

Your scar, born from spear

I Fear God

I fear God

in the way I fear beauty

in the way I fear vulnerability

in the way I fear getting what I want

in the way I fear being helpless

in the way I fear

being loved

unconditionally

What Hobby Lobby Won’t Tell You

Live, Laugh, Love

But also

Die, Cry, Hate.

Everything in its season.

Default Lines

My religion,

my nationality,

my culture,

my traditions,

my experience,

my feelings,

my perspective,

are not the default settings for truth.

The fruit of humility

is abundant curiosity.

Vinegar

I am convinced

there is nothing more hopeless

than constant positivity—

the sheer tyranny of it.

I would rather

sleep in the darkness

& eat the fruit of sadness,

taste the bitter wine

& make grief a brother,

& take up my cross

& then, in waiting, discover

how death can lose its sting.

Water into Wine

I went to church

It was the same old shit

Just a pastor on a stage

Spittin’ from his pulpit

A man with a vision

Unveiling his plan

To empty your pockets

Give ’em all that you can

Couldn’t take another

Minute of talk

So I took out my flask

And started to walk

A woman cried out

“He’s got a demon!”

I said “Too right, sister

I think I’ve got three of ’em”

Went to the prayer house

To meet with God

But they were talking abortions

And rivers of blood

Getting all het up

About the future of Israel

While the bullets rain down

On the “children of Ishmael”

Striding the streets

In the city of Kansas

I was stopped by a man

Who was hungry and homeless

He said “Brother

Could you bum me a smoke?”

I said “Here, take the packet

And light one for Jesus”

Profanity Prayer

Sometimes I cuss when I pray

And if you don’t approve

You can go suck a benediction

Greater Love Has No Man

Greater love has no man

Than would lay down his life

For his three preppy kids

And Proverbs 31 wife

Firmly ensconced

In a complementarian marriage

A Craftsman home

With a two-car garage[*]

One spot for the pickup

A second berth for the van

Putting all our savings

In a retirement plan

We’re just being good Christians

We’re just being good people

Trying to thread our lives

Through the eye of a needle

Skip Notes

* In my London accent “garage” rhymes with “marriage” and this is my book so you are the one that has to adjust. Selah.

Watermelon

Love does not colonize

Joy does not colonize

Peace does not colonize

Patience does not colonize

Kindness does not colonize

Goodness does not colonize

Faithfulness does not colonize

Gentleness does not colonize

Self-control does not colonize

White Jesus Must Die

If the real Jesus

had to die

a horrific death

then you sure as hell

can slaughter

the hay-haired blond

blue eyed

pale skinned

fabrication of a savior

you have floating around

in your heart & imagination

kill that man dead

no comebacks

Genesis

Nobody is ashamed

of themselves

until someone tells you

you should be

I know we cannot

free ourselves

so easily

but I can vow:

no one else

will learn shame from me

This Would Be My Pleasure

For Eve, the fruit

was not an apple

& pleasure was not the sin

God only noticed

once she wore her shame

across her gleaming skin

There is no such thing as a guilty pleasure

Because pleasure cannot assume that posture

This world is strewn

with cruelties

So I won’t hesitate

in delight

I shall reap my joy

from wherever it grows

Of a Rainbow

To marvel at

the vibrant arc

of a rainbow

doesn’t diminish

the devastation of a flood

it is simply a sign

we made it through

That Old Familiar Cage

(or I Won’t Go Back to Egypt)

I will not be returning

to that old familiar cage

though it tempts me

when I am cold & lonesome

I will not be explaining

how I have become

more alive than you ever knew me

or imagined

I could possibly be

I will not justify

every decision of progress

& change. Yes, I grew

because that is what living things do.

I Still Believe in Miracles

I still believe in miracles

Even though my friends

Are dying of diseases you could

Ostensibly heal if you listened

To any of my god-damn prayers

Perhaps I don’t have enough

Faith to move the mountain

But if it only takes a mustard seed

All I know is, I have at least that much

As my heart is breaking twice;

First, for the loved ones who

Are slipping from my life

Like a stream I cannot hold

And secondly because

I still fucking believe.

God Is Not in Control

Despite what they told you

God is not in control

But she is

Holding all things together

As mothers tend to do.

Ten

Give Us Back Our Lives

i.

Give us back our lives

because this is not our inheritance

this is furta sacra—

theft of the sacred

ii.

Our lives are being siphoned of goodness

and refilled with plastic & sugar & debt

we are operating on calorie deficits

and intrusive thoughts

we make our hunger

everybody else’s problem

most of us spinning in jobs we hate

the only promise:

promotion to middle-manager

of people stuck in jobs they hate

thinking about the lunch break

from the minute we arrive

thinking about the weekend

thinking about vacation

learn to code

they say

for pizza parties, headaches

& sensory overload

for a coffee

twice reheated

for indigestion from fast food

we ate too quick

for vitamin supplements

& coping mechanisms

we secretly wish to get sick

just to get a few days rest

(nothing too serious)

we dream about winning the lottery

but never buy a ticket

(too smart for that)

we unsubscribe from email lists

like it’s our job

(it isn’t)

we rewatch The Office on one screen

fill the Amazon cart with the other

we have two dozen open tabs

we make free content for tech companies

and then they show us ads

we lift weights & dumbbells

& pay monthly for the privilege

we eat flavorless tomatoes

in February

the only drugs they will prescribe

are the ones you can’t enjoy

there’s a low-level anger

wound up like a coil

AI anxieties

kept on a rolling boil

my watch tells me to “breathe”

I tell it to fuck off

I walk into rooms

& forget why I entered

there is nothing here

I remember wanting

the cities of our fathers

are all gerrymandered & gentrified

we can’t even see the shooting stars

that pass, fast & bright, above us

it wasn’t the working class

who ravaged the bourgeoisie

it was the avarice

of the ultra-rich

who picked the cotton in my tee?

it’s the same old shit

they just moved the plantations

out of sight, out of regulation

this system makes us all thieves

& I will never be this innocent again

they take away our recycling

but we have our suspicions

we used to watch TV together

now we sit in different rooms

each of us left

to our own devices

we become what we tolerate

I keep a tally of everything

my kids will tell their therapist about

and then I tweet about self-care

there are no maps anymore

only phones

there are no mentors anymore

only youtube instructional videos

even my bible

is just another app

I drink water all day

yet wake up thirsty every night

the subcutaneous fat

in my neck thrumming

like an apartment radiator

where the thermostat is busted

or set too high

neither side of the pillow is cool enough

iii.

I am coping, but not coping

I count my teeth with my tongue

I scramble to hold on to something, anything

that doesn’t move

all this creative energy with nowhere to go

eats us from within

the sadness never leaves

but neither does the wonder

& that makes everything sadder

it’s all too much

but also

nowhere near enough

iv.

It’s not the pain that worries me

it’s succumbing to the numbness

I have tried a disaffected zen-state of being—

to Lebowski my way through this world

but you can’t

the Nihilism always catches up to you

you have to care

you have to fucking care

I am incompatible with the status quo

I will be an agent of another way of living

I am taking the American dream

and making it my footstool

we are inside the empire

& I want to fight these bastards for real

work from home if you can

because they hate it

grow anything you are able to

nurture every creature you meet

yes, everyone is struggling right now

so please be gracious

be kind & patient, but subvert

every institution that relies on our suffering

(even the churches)

we do not balk from work

there is no shortage of endeavor

in the spirit of folk

we will not be severed

from planet, personhood or kin

for nothing more

than money

v.

I cherish the mornings

when I am awoken by the birds

not by alarm

I love the days that cannot be seized

when the coffee is for leisure

or the pleasure of taste

rather than to jolt my brain

into function

time is the only commodity I care about

time to heal & dream

& pick the flowers

& feel the breeze

& be baptized in nature

& play catch with my child

& fetch with my dog

& paint

& spin a pot

& write a book

that bigots want to ban

& bake bread

& make love

& laugh until it hurts

& miss what is lost

& remember all

that should not be forgotten

& forget everything

that doesn’t matter

& forgive all

that can be released

we let go of everything, eventually.

I want to receive

this precious life

by sleeping

when I am tired

by eating

when I am hungry

by resting

when I am in pain

there is no virtue in

the denial of necessity

& having what we need

should not be a fantasy

we hear the murmurs

from the marrow of the earth

we have the memory of real life in our bones—

the old ways are in our blood

but don’t get sentimental

get free

it’s okay to live a life

that people don’t understand

not every horse can be broken

not all wildness can be tamed

there’s a reason it’s called

unbridled joy

touch grass

touch trees

touch the petals

touch the leaves

touch the water in the creek

sense this world in scent

through sight, in texture

vi.

the world is a cathedral

& my heart is a gospel choir

I can hear it

I can hear it

the year of Jubilee

and we will sing our love

while the world ain’t fair

& like the first buds of spring—

I can’t wait to see you bloom

so if we are a generation

kissed with apocalypse

and if these really are the end times

then let us finish with a flourish, yes

flourish, dear ones, flourish.

Poetry is not only dream and vision; it is the skeleton architecture of our lives. It lays the foundations for a future of change, a bridge across our fears of what has never been before.

—Audre Lorde

Acknowledgments

For this book, I had a village.

Nothing I have done would be possible without my partner, co-parent, co-owner, chief goat herder, and epitome of care, dearest Emilie. Love is an observable phenomenon.

To the team that brought these words onto pages and into hands: Derek, Leita, and Jessalyn at Convergent and Amy Hughes, my agent and safe shore.

To Malcolm, who kept telling me I had something when all my dreams were somewhere in the dust, and all the Common Hymnal family.

To the real ones—Chris & Audra, Ellynne & Jonathan, Cameron & Sarah, Kate, Mike & Becky, Kel & Luke, Andrew & Elizabeth, Matthew & Micah, Noah & Sarah, Mac, Sam, Nicky B, Rebecca, Ed & Liz, Tim, Jonesy, John Peters & Jennifer Lapidus.

Photo: Hayley Brooks

David Gate grew up in London before making his way to Belfast, Northern Ireland, and Jacksonville, Florida. He now lives in the ancient Appalachian Mountains of Asheville, North Carolina, where he writes, mills flour, and tends to a one-acre homestead with his partner and children.

Instagram: @davidgatepoet

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