Brian David Thedell-Luke Skywalker

The night before—

after three AM has past—

after all but those who must

through a consciousness swollen in guilt—or—

through a love long lost now in night recalled—or—

through some whispered notion thought spoken, just now, into their ear from God,

all but those who must

hear not the heralding of the dawn,

hear not the slight and soft advance of dawn,

hear not but only slipping sleep,

—singing, stretching, Silent sleep—

God must have died

a long, long time ago—

“Oh no!” he said,

“Not me,” he said,

“I never lost control—”

and then I was


to face

with someone…

“Oh no!”

“Not we”

“You and I, we never

lost control!”

And I looked up at him,

looked up at him,

sighed and wondered

—wandered my eyes to see him, but—

but it was only me.

Three AM shushed away

at least an hour ago, it seemed,

and I saw no one, none but

my own thoughts,

still within my breath,

still within the air.

Who had been talking—who had cried out to me?

Whose voice had so sweet insisted that I—alone—has never,

could never,

would never,

lose that control?

God is dead and yet His body

turned to return into only

his voice,

that voice,

my voice as I found it

tumbled from my lips to speak

these poems—

these lines—

these stumble-stubble words

—in English—

trying ever still to help him,

trying ever still to find some new name for God.

Joshua, Daniel, Nathan—

a friend called Chris,

a friend called JJ,

a friend called Darnel—

some of them

slowly unpeeled their bodies

before me—

some of them

only still with their words

unpeeled their names before me:



names and still

his tender body


unpeeled within me,

unpeeled inside me,

unpeeled his essence and still years later,

I miss his body, still;

I miss Nathan, too—shrot form body—

and, too, his essence;

all of them, these men,

who, lain beside me,

unpeeled me, deep, into my bed—

I miss them all and wish

and sigh and sigh,

would you please, yes please,

just haunt me again?

Come bring your body

close again,

slow and sure.

Anew I remember and recall and

I write in Sacred submission


these words I form to form

a Prayer and poem and name:

Brian David Thedell-Luke Skywalker.