8 abstractions

a story made of 8 poems from The Book of Abstractions

Apr 11, 2025

Perhaps my favorite part of creating poetry collections and manuscripts is putting things in order. Across nine completed book projects and more in the works, I always find this part of the process the most fun. How can poems – like constellations – come together as a greater story, with unexpected narrative threads weaving words into epic tales?

Here, I’ve selected eight poems from my most recent publication, The Book of Abstractions, and turned them into a story all their own. They appear below in a different sequence than they do as part of 78 poems within the complete text. That means this version is shorter, but captures a unique relationship between each individual poem, walking with purpose from one into the next into the next – moving pieces merging into myth.

I simply chose what I felt most called to share with you in this earth-hour and made a new mosaic: fractions of a fractal, harmonic whole.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

1. VIOLENCE

how many ways are there to say –
to ask – to pray – to beg – to scream? –
i fear a fateful violence
falling forth from dreams.

i recognize our memory
in ancient, ardent myths:
i, who ran in anger.
you, who held my wrists.

i, who saw your face gone pale,
your body in the box –
how i gripped the steering wheel
and screamed as traffic stopped.

you, who yoked your shoulders
and, binding your own back,
pulled the weight up hills of shame
and carved a clearer map.

i, who searched for fathers, found
men married to their desks
and took up risky residence
and reveled in regret.

and you, who turned to icy stone
in early morning light,
forgetting how your fire fueled
the stars that lit the night.

how many ways are there to say –
to beg – to ask – to scream – to pray?
finagle us a fairytale
that flowers every may.

2. REFUGE

was i better off under the spell?
i ask as i drink
from a poisoned well –

refuge
found
not even in the forest.
beating broken wings, the luna moth
tries to fly up and up to greet the face
of the full moon
but resolves to rise
only as high as the palm of your hand.

and so you kneel before you stand –

carry the creature back
to the beginning of the path
and wish its shaking body
a kindly goodbye.

where was it we used to hide? before
we lost the spot
forgot the thought –

should i surrender to the rot
reclaiming the map of my brain?

i spend all day in rooms where they
prioritize my pain.

3. YOUTH

i am the ghost that haunts
main street at foot speed –
i pass by the school, run
between all three
churches that line the length
of the stretch – they said
go to god for god knows best –

but the book was a prop
and the rules were a game – to play
for the team, they made you change –

strip down to bare skin
in a room full of boys
who grabbed you and shoved you
and said don’t make noise!
and blamed you for running
all the way home
when you were the one
with nowhere to go

but into the trap
they set just for you –
they called it the path
for promising youth.

how dare you deviate?
how dare you attempt
to stray from the way
and jump the great fence

we built to protect you
from satan himself –

primeval architect
erecting hell!

we were both right to run
for the haven of hills.
they’ll come hunt us down
but they won’t clock the kill –

for we’re ghosts in the garden
where gates remain closed:

a portal falls open
for the lover who knows.

4. JUDGMENT

have you heard the things they say,
by what rules they claim to play? –
in the house of god where they
avert their gaze away

from the shadow of themselves,
burn the best of ancient shelves –
knowledge deeper than the wells
they drain and drag to hell:

inhale stale, demonic air –
exhale insincerest prayer –
the ghostly gleam, the stained-glass glare
made my young eyes aware –

open though they said to close
the mind – those eyes – a blooming rose –
a river runs, the fable flows –
i asked and no one knows

how to read a holy book,
translate a page that men mistook
for what? – nobody cared to look
and when the steeple shook,

broke and crumbled to the ground
as love was lost and never found –
that sweet and sacred, ringing sound
forgotten by the town,

torn
in judgment
down.

5. BLASPHEMY

somewhere i am brave enough to be
what i am in my heart: the madman

running through the streets with my
lantern swinging,
s c r e a m i n g

GOD IS DEAD, AND WE HAVE KILLED HIM!

i come from the cliffside, make my way
down the mountain and move
tumbled trees and broken branches
off the forgotten path. i light
the lamps and hurl my words like a
pin-juggling fool out into
the town square. poems
spill from my pockets
leaving a trail
of truth

and blasphemy
behind.

for there is nowhere left to hide
when self-proclaimed MEN OF GOD
justify
a genocide.

6. DECADENCE

i no longer fit
in the hip
part of town.
under the bridge
i live – burned down –
requesting a coin
in exchange for the word
we all forgot
when no one heard

the trill of the trumpet
singing the name
hallowed and holy and
who was to blame?
for a bond so barren
and a wound so deep –
give them goods but keep
them cheap! for one to produce
while the other buys: “the cost
requires we sell some lies!”

contrive a disguise!

obscure what’s true!
success is the art
of how to construe

the facts in your favor
then make up the rest.
invent a great farce!
bad faith does it best!

believe your own fiction!
beguile yourself!

your compass collects
cobwebs on a shelf
where morals are mingled
with rot and decay –
d e c a d e n c e
drives the fading away,

falling short of the glory
and far from the tree
god grew from the ground
we once walked – free –

7. WAR

my old boss calls it “business”

and i call bullshit.
while i watch our world treat war
like a goddamn spectator sport
the high and mighty
invest their money
just to profit handsomely –

collect their dividends from death,
tell two lies in the same breath
and blame the ones that they oppress
for the fact that freedom
is nowhere to be found

as they drop their bombs from planes
and boots trample the ground.

i’d like to ask, dear reader –
please, riddle me this:
if they believe the land is holy
why are they burning it?

they invoke the name of god
then try to write love out
as if our emerald earth were ever
lesser than her house!

they say possession is their birthright
and so they kill to claim
the country and the crucifix
where the son himself was slain

by men whose pulpit politics
usurped the people’s faith –
a fortune made from selling out
and spitting in god’s face!

wake up world! the children scream
before they kill us all!
we stand and cheer for sacrifice
and watch the martyrs fall.

8. REDEMPTION

christ did not wander the streets
with a book, beating
people blue and black and
back – into obedience

did not send unmade men
off to some far-flung jungle
to fight with fire in father’s holy name

no, christ did not request
an offering did not auction absolution
did not demand a down payment
on redemption

did not need to stamp your passport scan
your iris ink your fingertip did not ask
to pat your pocket

in search of weapons and warnings and whiskey
and wealth. christ
did nothing
but give of himself –

tell inspired stories
ordained by the divine:
the time-ghost moves collective thought
in spheres that look like lines –

lines that push through doorways –
and lines that run down streets –
and lines that wrap around the block –
and lines that cross and meet –

and lines that fly like mountain crows –
and lines that seek the sun –
and lines that reach as rays burst free –
and lines that find the one

circling the center
receiving golden light
that softens into silver
beneath the cloak of night.

christ
did not pledge allegiance to a flag
a king a cult a reich. christ aligned
the truth to crucifix –
death – unbroken life –

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

These 8 abstractions tell a story of love and abuse, beauty and ugliness. They reveal the parallels between one small-town community and the larger world in which we live – where rigid and exclusionary ideas about religion lead to unspeakable destruction and harm. They explore the lives of those who are cast aside or even killed in the name of God – as if the divine weren’t present within each of us as universal love.

What stories did you feel coming through when you read these 8 abstractions? Did a different narrative take shape for you? How do you relate to the individual scenes and expression of ideas? Which points of view seem to overlap with your own? If you feel inclined to answer any of these questions, let’s discuss in the comments.

To learn more about The Book of Abstractions and purchase a copy of your own, find it here in the Dandelion Scribes online poetry shop.

Each poem in this collection is titled with an abstract noun and seeks to add layers of specificity – inspired by the author's real-life experiences – to concepts, ideas, and emotions.

dandelions & dithyrambs

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