This might seem odd to you, but it makes sense to me. 

a new habit has appeared in my weekends: a casual saunter downtown, sunshine on skin, breeze through hair, weight of the week dispersing.

Stream of consciousness: sometime in the time after I hit my head real hard, I promised myself to be unhinged as often as possible.

All the right spices for a maddening depression. Restorative however, is my belief that God redeems; makes Holy what was Horrible.

I can’t decide if continuing to attend church is brave and essential to my eternal spiritual welfare, or masochistic and twisting metaphoric

A poetry form is of sacred importance. The 'eastann' gives voice to the complexities of humanity, environment, and the Divine.