Outpost

I think when I have reached the fabled end of this unbearable beginning
and all my many wounds and scars dissolve
into the blessed crucible of night,
I will if choice is given me forgo a resurrection of the body
for assumption or deserved descent
or any sale of this alleged soul

May the doe-eyed Huris (hidden pearls) not disturb the sweetness of my rest,
nor the clamor of the sexless seraphim
send tin hosannahs to rattle through my dreams.
And keep me, please, from the glare of a hilltop Sodium City,
from all the meccas, temple mounts and churches
in whose names the fervent spill their blood.

No Eden can shelter child of man, nor any love anneal his written Fall
so on my belly let me sleep as I have crawled
in the failing light and unforgiving dust.

Let the rushing wind that swells and soughs across these bony plains
coax my every weary molecule apart
and in the empty darkling night let me be free…
and lay me ‘neath the holy prairie grass
and let grass become of me

Copyright 2009, Thomas J Burbach

much peace

Forms

No wispy strands of cirrus,
or mountain ships of cumulus piled
on a blue, sweltering sea.
Just slate grey skyscape from horizon to horizon,
and wind shaking the jumbled communities
of mismatched sedge and biblical thorns.

Copyright 2009, Thomas J Burbach

much peace

upon departure

Today is heavy upon my shoulders;
it began in disarray, before first light,
struggling back into my defenses from
the supposed sanctuary of your bed

So hard to leave you; almost your warmth had reached me:
In bits and pieces I was comforted until
a chill edge crept into your talk,
within me met an answering cold
and, of a sudden,
we are miles apart in your little
bed

Two penitents at opposite ends of the cathedral,
too proud to kneel in servitude to the one
cause worth serving; and so we lie, stiff-necked
and quite separate, and moving in separate directions:
you to your clandestine loves (a heat I may not touch),
and I to ponder, hands shackled behind my head,
why my own heart is so cold

_______________________

So I am brought unto the morning:
the sun drags behind him a formless morass
of clouds, slow as a funeral procession:
and I a faceless mourner, lacking
the wits to grieve.

Copyright, 2001 Thomas J Burbach

much peace

Untitled

Fragility:
A thinning of skin in the cold light
and Caution:
The keen edges of leaves and
the quiet, lethal blades of barely grass

Intent:
The dark burgeoning river strains
against its banks and bed
and Malcontent:
Simple sots who dreamed the mouth
and once believed it pure

Intuition:
Every shit-filled canal and little creek
knows something of the open sea
and Revolution:
The storm claims corpses to spite the levy
and drums and howls that war is yet alive

(Thomas J Burbach Copyright 2009)

much peace

"The Evil You Deem Most Terrible..."

So there have been a couple news stories lately about the grand high bastard Archbishop of the Omaha Archdiocese, his Super-Duper Excellency Elden Curtiss. You know, the asshole who moved priests around in Montana and helped at least 30 kids get sexually abused there; the one who transferred at least one pedophile priest and one child pornographer priest around Omaha, then castigated the church employee who called him on it. The one who told the World Herald he sleeps beautifully at night; the one to whom the Catholic church is giving a $300K house in which to retire (hope to see you in the eye of needle, fucker). My brother had the singular pleasure of interviewing Curtiss, and I am glad it was Christopher and not me. My boys need their Daddy whole, strong and not in prison for life.

These news stories have brought me face to face again with events from my youth, and shocked me into recollections of darkness and of evil.

I'm not a believer in a supernatural overlord, but I have no problem raising my children to follow Jesus of Nazareth. I can believe, to a large degree, in the church of Oscar Romero or Desmond Tutu, or Mother Teresa or Maximillian Kolbe. The church of Ratzenberger the Nazi, though, the Vatican's Pit Bull, and of John Paul II, the CIA's pontiff, and of Bernard Law and Bishop Curtiss: This church fundamentally frightens me in a way I haven't felt since I was frozen with night terrors when I was a kid.

I fear. I fear. I fear.

I am afraid of a corporation that holds over 800 million in thrall and has for centuries aided and abetted the felony sexual abuse of children, me included. The boys start Catholic pre-school in about a year, give or take, and I am terrified of the potential harm that may be done to them by an organism that has shown every willingness to let the children suffer until they are caught red-handed. Sure, there are sick fucks everywhere; in every school and every park, but the Catholic church has repeatedly thumbed its nose at the law, blamed the media for its crimes, and thrown a middle finger to victims. It is fact that Elden Fuckhole Curtis transferred a known pedophile priest around Montana for years, resulting in damage to at least 30 kids. I don't want to make this about my experiences, but I know something about the hurt and injury that occurs when a kid has his doors broken down in that manner. I spent over 20 years in spiritual poverty I didn't recognize and that I finally realized, sort of, I did not deserve. I could not love, and it was just part of my identity that no one could possibly love me. It no longer defines me; I am stronger and better now; but you're never entirely free of it.

Thirty children in Montana and more in Omaha had swaths of their lives taken from them. I am not an empathetic person by nature, but I am almost incapacitated by the extremity of the rage and sorrow I feel for them, and for all victims of these fucking men of god and the fat bloated uncaring bastards who enable them. Thousands of children violated, and Ratzenberger has the malice, the cruelty, to blame the media for blowing it out of proportion. Curtiss told my brother he sleeps soundly at night, and the Catholic Organism, the Roman Spider, says fuck you to law and to victims and to Christ and REWARDS the Vatican's Pit Bull by appointing him pope. They say fuck you to the Montana and Omaha victims and REWARD Curtiss with a $300K retirement home.

So yeah, there are sick fucks everywhere, but I am, unbelievably, going to commend my children into the hands of a corporation that considers itself above earthly law or accountability, and that did everything in its power to hide the suffering and injury it inflicted upon its most vulnerable members.

I fear.

I fear that finding out after the fact (which is when you find out, if at all) would mean the damage to my sweet, precious, beautiful little boys would already be done. I don't want them to be condemned to the same miserable dirty cage that I inhabited for so many years. If they find faith or prayer, I want it to be whole and clean and strong. I want them to be overwhelmed by love and mystery, not amputated by knee-jerk cynicism and hate. I fear...

I fear what their father would do if they were harmed by that organism. I don't believe in forgiveness, for me or for anyone else, and should my children be harmed by the Catholic church, I swear upon my body, my life, and my love for my sons, I will not leave a temple stone standing from Rome to Nebraska. I have no love and no loyalty for these pretend followers of goodness: I will tear down their churches and drink their hearts' blood to the bottom.

I fear.

much peace

Relevant Poem by Thomas McGrath

After Tomasito's Departure

The sun still shines
And the moon moves on the waters.
In the heavy press of the heat,
The flowers and the citizens shrivel.
Everything in order for the summer solstice:

But the whole city empty -
Since you've been gone.

(McGrath, 1991)

much peace

Benediction to Max and Will (to be recited at nap and bedtimes)

I love you in the morning, in the afternoon and
at night.

I love you when I go to work, and when I come home.

I love you at breakfast, lunch and dinner.

I love you when the sun comes up, and in the dark
under the moon, and all the way to the stars.

(Copyright, 2009, Thomas J Burbach)

much peace