Poem: Time Machine

Nov 5, 2013
Marjorie DeLuca

In the hours between dog and hyena,
they still serve lunch to a certain crowd.

He toddles in with his baggage:
a cane an oxygen tank a man-purse

an ample wife and her sister leading the way.
The machine that was the man is now

rusting, teeth rounded off the gears of time.
They take their time, as time is

all they have left, and with much animus
and screeching of sliding chairs

the women choose a table to our side.
He is not there. I am not here.

I know this man. Years of
running a business,

Poem: The Sayings of Twilight Jesus

Oct 9, 2013


Twilight Jesus was looking for a little home to add another notch in time. He was traveling by his soul, deep in his bones, to the wilderness of freedom. "I wait here where the band is tuning up. I love the music; it washes through me, my water. "

He had the spirit of a hummingbird, radiating or reflecting illumination. " But hey, sometimes the only joy that leaps toward me is the joy of grief. I can't get God to talk to me, not knowing has to be good enough. Praise the night, the dreams that safely cradle you."