Based on a true patio.
All in Some Sense
They loved Jesus enough to put him right up against Canada Day and long weekends. That’s not nothing.
Maybe the first step of gathering is to realize who is lost. Or maybe I just think it’s funny to take things too literally.
Based on a true father. Probably based on all the true fathers. At least half.
The only thing worse than writing a poem about regrets and sorrow is trying to explain it.
I had some time on a tour bus in Las Vegas. I met a man. I wish him well.
Feels like taking the Lord’s name in vain to use his authority to crusade against a fake rabbit, no?
There are lots of ways to sound your trumpet in the street.
I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. It’s hard to see what we have when we have it.
An invitation to for many of us to stop pretending we know and embrace belief.
Many think the question is noble. I think it’s a sign of something seriously wrong. In my poem, Jesus agrees with me.
I stared a moment or two wondering if the guy at church was a visitor, and then I realized it didn’t matter.