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This appears in a pre-2010 issue of cc&d magazine. Saddle-stitched issues are no longer printed, but you can requesting it “re-released” through amazon sale as a 6" x 9" ISBN# book! Email us for re-release to order.

this writing is in the collection book Charred Remnants (PDF file) download: only $9.95 (b&w pgs): paperback book $18.95 (b&w pgs):hardcover book $32.95 (color pgs): paperback book $74.93 (color pgs): hardcover book $87.95

As sure as church bells
Sunday morning, ringing
on Halsted and State Street,
Chicago,
these memories will
be soon forgotten.
I stumble in my life with these words
like broken sentences.
I hear and denounce myself in the distance,
mumbling chatter off my lips.
Fragments and chips.
Swearing at the parts of me I can’t see;
walking away rapidly from the spiritual thoughts of you.
I am disjointed, separated from my Christian belief.
I feel like I’m at the bottom of sinner’s hill
playing with my fiddle, flat fisted and busted.
So you sing
in the gospel choir; sang in Holland,
sang in Belgium, from top to bottom,
the maps, continents, atlas are all yours.
I detach myself from these love affairs
drive straight, swiftly,
to Hollywood Casino Aurora.
Fragments and chips.
I guess we gamble in different casinos,
in different corners of God’s world,
you with church bingo; and I’m a riverboat boy.
No matter how spiritual I’m once a week,
I can’t take you where my poems don’t
follow me.
Church poems don’t cry.

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