Bryce A. Taylor

Barabbas we can understand—a bit unhinged, but we have plannedfor that containable derangement,just as in the kind estrangementof Legion, as he styled himself,by the grave edge of a lakeside shelf.Aside from the price of swine, you see,that madman was dependably—well, mad. Our wars, our . . . . Continue Reading »

Smart people have informed me I am on the wrong, or losing, side of history. But will there be a right and winning side when the world is gone? . . . . Continue Reading »

Don’t think about the freckles he, or she, Might have, or how much hair, how big a grin, Or whether swimming would come naturally, Or whether—it?—might play the violin. Don’t think of prom, don’t think of puppy love Or calculus, or snow, or spring in bloom, Or anything that might . . . . Continue Reading »

Upstanding persons surely find it odd, The way these pilgrims crawl to Bethlehem. How baffling is the foolishness of God. Two thousand years have passed, and still they plod, Hoping a cave might shed some light on them. Enlightened persons surely find it odd. The virgin queen, derided as a fraud, . . . . Continue Reading »

Like this Auschwitz barbed-wire rosary” clipped with teeth and finger twisted, black-blood-stained, rain-encrusted, thorny, skin-pricking, motherly-misery- pregnant, passed from hand to bone-ripped ashen hand, brand of traitors to the empire, fire in chokehold chambers sparking visions of . . . . Continue Reading »