Winn Dixie's Gethsemane

I toss as I sleep
like a visitor unwelcome,
haunted by the image
of the man who didn't eat.

The man whose hair was matted
his finger nails dirt filled
With neck deep stained by blood spilled
poorly hid by an unseasoned jacket.

The cashier said, "I'm sorry sir
this credit card won't pass.
The picture is to much defaced
and we can't take that here."

He possessed his grocery bags
like a child to an early mother.
One could feel his hunger pangs
as he surrendered each one over

"Run home; grab your check book sir."
He nodded hesitatingly;
exiting encumbered
by lost hope and false identity.

I wanted to scream my confession.
I'VE GOT THE EXACT SAME PROBLEM SIR!
But instead guarded my wallet
and the cheap grace I keep hidden there.

I kissed him on the cheek,
betraying my own flesh my blood.
Now thirty dollars tie a noose
and overhang my bed.

9/25/08

I was the third person of six in an isle 7 pile up at the Belvedere Winn Dixie late last night. The hold up being a confrontation over a raggedy mans credit card, not totally matching up with his driver's licence. Both cards had been considerably defaced, enough to raise suspicion from the hesitant cashier. Other isles began to open up, and customers began to file into their vacancies. I stayed, content to be in the middle of the ordeal.

The man wore a bright purple ring and his finger nails were dirt filled. He wore no socks with leather slip-ons and his hair was rough and frayed. His over-sized tan jacket contained wrinkles of a likely nighttime pillow. He repeatedly called the cashier mama and stammered when he spoke, his hands shaking spastically at his sides. He mentioned running home to grab his checkbook as if he had something to prove, possessing his three bags of groceries like an early mother. I could feel his hunger pangs as he finally relinquished them from his grip to the apologetic manager.

It was at this point that he looked at me and shrugged his shoulders; began walking toward the door. And it was at this point that i affirmed my selfish and dead faith. "Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed," I said silently, as he walked out the entrance, his shattered hope and false identity evident in the way he hung his head. And there i stood, holding my hand over my back pocket, guarding my wallet, along with the cheap grace i keep hidden inside of it.

I turned as i slept, cringing at the realization that I had betrayed grace for thirty measly bucks. Now I play Judas, and would give anything to buy that man his groceries. What will it take before my greed costs me far more than a few dollars.

"You gotta go with traffic man"

Recently I've been attempting to conserve money and save our planet by riding a bicycle. So far, its been real good, thanks to Trae-pal,who graciously donated a Raleigh road-cruiser to my cause. With its purple shade and 21 gears, that sucker flies, and i mean flies. I've got a speedometer on the thing to prove it. However, the gravity defying speeds turned out to be my demise.

I was riding home from school Friday, booking just over 20 mph down Dixie Highway. Cruising the right southbound lane, i came up to Belvedere Rd, and rather than reducing speeds to avoid colliding with a potential car, i opted to cross over into the far left northbound lanes of oncoming traffic. I made sure no cars were coming my way before doing so, and made my move zooming through Belvedere as waiting cars stared googly-eyed at my dazzling purple speedster. I think i may have even stood up to peddle at this point for added effect.

After passing through the intersection i noticed that no cars were headed my way, so i stayed in the northbound lane. Unfortunately, at this same moment, a man walking, about 30 years of age, was noticing the same exact thing, and also made the choice to step foot in the lane we both deemed safe for traveling. I let out a holler, as did my brakes, sending the stranger into a startling state of motionlessness. We hit, and hit hard, hurling him to the ground, the bike into oblivion, and me through the air.

I guess it all happened so fast, neither of us really had any time to react to the crash. I gathered myself, the bike, and chunks of my ego spread out on the concrete, while he sort of brushed himself off, calling out, "you gotta go with traffic man." We both went our separate ways, and looking back on it, other than a sore tail bone, my only regret is not asking him if he was alright. I think pain has a tendency to make me self-consumed.

Rogue Waves; a myth? I think not

For the first time in a while, the Atlantic took a deep sigh long enough to allow some friends and i to get out on the water. Several lobster even came out to play, and thanks to sir alex, we bagged three of them buggers.

Satisfied with our catch, we headed in, cleaned them up, starting back down the beach toward my car. rather than carry my kayak back, i chose to paddle it along the shore. with nowhere to put my lobster tail, i put it in my pocket, removing my car keys, placing them on the center console type deal: a decision that would haunt me until, well, I'm still kicking myself.

A quarter mile paddle or so, i wound up about 10 feet shy of directly in front of where the beach opened up to Clarke Ave. Bad decision number two told me to turn the boat away from the shore, to paddle a few more feet, leaving the port side of my meager vessel completely vulnerable to nothing other than a two foot rogue wave, which sent both my awkward flailing body and my only set of car keys into the three foot, sandy, shell-filled abyss. i was literally a step from shore but my keys were quite literally no where to be found. two couples drinking corona watched and snickered as i dove down several times, coming up with handfuls of frustration. one guy recommended that i sift through the sand. awesome.

I guess the world would be a much different place if we all did things smart the first time, but i can't help but wonder.

A few hours on the sidewalk and a pretty penny later, i had a new key, and one more reason to never underestimate the power of a rogue wave.

Summer thoughts

A clean shirt
and blue jeans
Sit softly on my skin

A warm meal
and cold water
Are my daily routine

I am the rich man
I am the rich man
I am the rich man

My head's full of dreams
i've got plans to live them out

My pocket's full of opportunity
and I am not without
anything that i need

I am the rich man
I am the rich man
I am the rich man

I always said God dwells in the poor
But will i ever see
Because i take all my meals behind a front door
And i lock it when when i sleep

I always said God dwells in the needy
But do I give a damn
Because i've got a much flatter and brighter screen
To tell me who i am

I am the rich man
I am the rich man
I am the rich man

Selling all i own and giving it away
I don't seem to know how

So will i make it through the eye of a needle
I often have my doubts

For I am the rich man
I am the rich man
I am the rich man

4-17-08

I knocked upon a door
I walked into a heart
I walked into a fragile wall
Built of all the broken pieces he had left behind
Filled with all the loose affections she could bear to find

I knocked upon a door
I walked into a heart
I walked into a loaded gun
That shot me down and cut me up
Fed me to my lust
Told her this was honest
and Told her she could trust

I knocked upon a door
I walked into a heart
I severed wounds so i could heal them
Greater than the fall
Is the glory of the rescue
But i was never meant to be a Savior