Marcus Nefarious

Full poem below:

We are symbiotes alone in the abyss
with the bacteria and mycelia growing
under needle-laden pine scrubs with
the oxpecker eating parasites eating blood
eating oxygen and pathogens
down into the darkness between
our own electrons.

No one told us this was all
a marriage was.
No one told us this was all of life -
a web of symbiotes
gathering from each other the strength to love.

Let us find in one another the courage to return to ourselves.

Let us ask one another tenderly to expose our untreated wounds from beneath our make-shift bandages. Let us find in our words the sterile instruments needed for mending our separations. Let us not hide from one another the running sores that we cannot cauterize ourselves.

Let us find in all of us immeasurable honor. And let us measure accurately together our shame.

An NFT of this poem is available on the OpenSea collection "Infernal Meditations." Link in bio.

Let us beware the impulse to stamp out the light in a child's eyes.

The world is more beautiful for children. And we despise them for it. We observe with primal malice their bubbling over of amazing nature facts or the height of their last vertical leap. What the world has ground into us, we seek to grind finer into them.

Let us not confuse the gravitas of our age with the hatred of our inner child.

http://paulcheney.net/psalms/let-us-beware-impulse-stamp-light/

Let Us Beware the Impulse to Stamp Out the Light - Paul Cheney Let us beware the impulse to stamp out the light in a child’s eyes. The world is more beautiful for children. And we despise them for it. We observe with primal malice their bubbling over of amazing nature facts or the height of their last vertical leap. What the world has ground into us, we …

We do not find the kingdom of God in the usual places -
It is not in Simon the Zealot's dream of revolution
nor in the inner court of the temple upon the altar of the religious elite
nor in the smiles pulled taut across the faces of faithful church attenders.
No, the kingdom of God is not so definite or obvious a thing as these.

But neither is it indefinite like the spiritual
songs of the white man lost in gnostic reveries.

The Kingdom of God must be loosely contained in metaphor -
the way the banks of the Mississippi loosely contains its floodwaters for a time.
the way Chernobyl loosely contained the splitting of atoms for a time.

This time, we will seek to contain it in the tensile cellulose of a grain -
probably wheat, but corn for our American readers will be acceptable.

This Kingdom of God grows with photosynthesis -
no less mysterious now that we have observed and named it.

This Kingdom of God takes sunlight,
mixes it with water and carbon dioxide,
and then produces oxygen and food.

This Kingdom of God will not be mass produced.
It will not be the product of the industrialized west.
It will not be engineered, or bought, or sold.

True, we may mass produce
and productize
and engineer
and buy
and sell
the harvest

But not its patient mitosis
Not its essential growth
from the creator to the creator

This Kingdom of God may only be breathed or eaten -
with greedy entitlement
or humble thanksgiving.

http://paulcheney.net/poems/sermon-notes-friend-mark-426-29/

Sermon Notes for a Friend (Mark 4:26-29) - Paul Cheney We do not find the kingdom of God in the usual places – It is not in Simon the Zealot’s dream of revolution nor in the inner court of the temple upon the alter of the religious elite nor in the smiles pulled taut across the faces of faithful church attenders. No, the kingdom of …

In praise of maggots, those illustrious eaters of the dead I sing.

For while we destroy the earth, they will persist and feed on the crumbs we leave in our greedy wake. The dead forests turned into dead houses. Dead oceans turned into dead human s**t. Dead mammals, reptiles, birds, turned into dead dirt. All is life for the maggot, which, in turn, is life for other life and so on.

In praise of maggots patiently redeeming earth’s nightmare of humanity I sing.

https://paulcheney.net/psalms/in-praise-of-maggots/

In Praise of Maggots - Paul Cheney In praise of maggots, those illustrious eaters of the dead I sing. For while we destroy the earth, they will persist and feed on the crumbs we leave in our greedy wake. The dead forests turned into dead houses. Dead oceans turned into dead human s**t. Dead mammals, reptiles, birds, turned into dead....

The ones we love will die.

Some before us, some after. Some tragically, some peacefully. But let us keep this thought at the back of our minds. It is useful for at least two things:

1. For the measure of validity in ideas, epistemologies, and modes of living.
2. For the drinking in of every moment they are with us.

Let us be sober-minded in the revelry of living with the ones we love.

http://paulcheney.net/psalms/ones-love-will-die/

The Ones We Love Will Die - Paul Cheney The ones we love will die. Some before us, some after. Some tragically, some peacefully. But let us keep this thought at the back of our minds. It is useful for at least two things: For the measure of validity in ideas, epistemologies, and modes of living. For the drinking in of every moment they .....

Let my heavy eyes open wider today than yesterday.

Let me be more awake to the suffering of my neighbors. Let me use more of what strength I have to carry something for them. Let me find more allies who can carry these things if I cannot.

Let us today bear the burdens in one another that cannot be uttered from the pulpit.

http://paulcheney.net/psalms/let-heavy-eyes-open-wider/

Let My Heavy Eyes Open Wider - Paul Cheney Let my heavy eyes open wider today than yesterday. Let me be more awake to the suffering of my neighbors. Let me use more of what strength I have to carry something for them. Let me find more allies who can carry these things if I cannot. Let us today bear the burdens in one …

Let us not pronounce guilt too quickly upon one another.

Not knowing the constellations we have projected for ourselves in the stars. Not knowing what adversity we have risen above; what horrors we have buckled underneath. Not knowing what blood we have poured out upon what altars in the name of what gods.

Let us be indulgent with the ugliness in one another we cannot understand.

https://paulcheney.net/psalms/let-us-not-pronounce-guilt-quickly/

Let Us Not Pronounce Guilt Too Quickly - Paul Cheney Let us not pronounce guilt too quickly upon one another. Not knowing the constellations we have projected for ourselves in the stars. Not knowing what adversity we have risen above; what horrors we have buckled underneath. Not knowing what blood we have poured out upon what altars in the name of wha...

In praise of my remaining questions I sing.

In praise of mourning the loss of questions I no longer have, I sing. In praise of idle questions that dead-end in the forgotten classrooms of epistemology I sing. In praise of questions that unlock – note by note – the confounding song of being I sing.

In praise of the slow, malignant tumor of truth I sing.

https://paulcheney.net/psalms/praise-remaining-questions/

In Praise of My Remaining Questions - Paul Cheney In praise of my remaining questions I sing. In praise of mourning the loss of questions I no longer have, I sing. In praise of idle questions that dead-end in the forgotten classrooms of epistemology I sing. In praise of questions that unlock – note by note – the confounding song of being I sing...

In praise of the wonder my sons see in the world I sing. http://paulcheney.net/psalms/praise-wonder-sons-see/

In Praise of the Wonder My Sons See - Paul Cheney In praise of the wonder my sons see in the world I sing. In praise of My Little Ponies, trampolines, pretend swords and pretend sword fights. In praise of the Greenland shark in Iceland that lives so deep underwater its meat becomes poisonous. In praise of hours of strange scribbles appearing sudden...

Still reading Seneca. Hell of a guy. http://ift.tt/2FCfOmO

The Timucua were the European-named group of Native Americans who lived in Northeast Florida. They are now extinct. Wikipedia has a little more if you are interested. http://ift.tt/2DdDaRm http://ift.tt/2mtzO1R

Everything but cumquats are in my yard. My mom has cumquats in hers and I thought they were worth breaking the theme. :) http://ift.tt/2mndVBz

A simple prayer for all those with a past.

http://paulcheney.net/resin-joseph/

Tell Me Resin Joseph (A Christmas Poem) - Poems by Paul Cheney Tell me resin Joseph on your walnut mantle perch red of duraflame® blaze beneath you in the Christmas fire, white of Sherwin Williams 7562 Interior above you on the Christmas wall. How faithful to the incarnation you seem hell below, heaven above, Immanuel between. But for the stockings hanging ther…

http://paulcheney.net/skittles/

Skittles - Poems by Paul Cheney Dear God, I know it’s much to ask of you but please, please make this great big bag of skittles have lots more reds than any other color. In fact, I’ll boldly pray in faith that you will make them all the red kind. Be it so! But if you don’t and choose instead in all your …

Maxforce FC Ant Bait Station

"Due to Fipronil and its accelerated domino effect kill, Maxforce Ant Bait Stations start to kill ants in just six hours. Tests show 90% population reductions in just four days for ants." -Amazon product description

I love them with a stillness like regret.
And when they enter me I gather to
meet them inside where orphean minuets
loll in the dark. I'm passive as they chew
the part of me I sense I was created
for. I can feel their quivering antennae
discover me before they bite a quid
of what I think is rightly theirs. For I

am just a lifeless tool to please
and give a tiny respite in the droll - no -
the work from which the ants must find release.
Poor darlings, life must take a violent toll.
So like a lover lying on the bed
I open slowly; gently nod my head.

Skittles

Dear God, I know it’s much to ask of you
but please, please make this great big bag of skittles
have lots more reds than any other color.
In fact, I’ll boldly pray in faith that you
will make them all the red kind. Be it so!
But if you don’t and choose instead in all
your mighty sovereignty to cut in me
long suffering and test my faith and make
me steadfast, please, at least give me the norm
in reds and not, to prove a point, much less.

The Old Bitch Gets Out Of Bed In Three Parts

For Callie

I.

She sleeps naked every night
under just a quilt she fashioned from
her husband’s flannel shirts.
Retreating from a dream of marriage
stealing only smells away,
she warms.
Her body creaks and coaxes her awake.
She senses from underneath her quilt
that night has honed itself
and burgeoned into morning.
It’s then she feels the wrenching love
that sorrow and diffused regret have given her.
She lets herself be taken by it,
heaves the quilt away from her
and lies exposed beneath
the curling of the dust

II.

Opening her eyes,
She watches, with devotion and a touch
of envy
her bedroom windows
fling themselves into the morning—
brazen, youthful, foolish—
as sunlight, huge and gracious,
quickly waters where they meet
and fights to keep from bursting them.
When certain of their safety,
then,
it lunges in and crackles through the room.

III.

She pulls the weeds
from her tomato garden
which she planted where he died.
“Something in the red,”
she used to tell the inquiries.
Now she doesn’t know.
The flowers in the creases
of her apron bloom as she unbends
and then surveys with earthy hand
the property with bitter love.

She thinks in large, inchoate thoughts
that shoot out words
inside of her like:
“swollenness” and “light”
and sees before she stoops again
a flash of evening sun in bending grass.