matt tullos

the compost pile of writer, matt tullos. mostly poems, prayers, rants and naratives... "Gods passion for the world has compelled me to be a contributor in the warfare of grace rather than a spectator in the warfare of religion."

Location: Alexandria, LA, United States

Tuesday, December 09, 2003


i'm in my bed
eyes open as i try to rock my brain to slumber
c.s. pops out of the wardrobe smoking a pipe
"don't worry lad
pain is God's megaphone"
t.s. crawls out from under the bed.
"all meaningful relationships end in pain."
"that's a really cheerful thought, mr. elliott."
i said respectfully.
dylan opens my bedroom window
obviously returning from the pub.
breath reeking of rum.
do not go
gently" he slurred.
good night! i said.
and he meekly closed the window
but he continued to stare in pity.
nosed pressed against the glass.
t.s. and c.s. ogled
as if i had invited them
into some cerebral slumber party
suddenly a dark figure appeared
towering over the moonlight
"chesterton..." i whispered
chesterton stood like a giant, finishing a hotdog.
he swallowed and said,
as brushed the crumbs from his gigantic coat,
"Indeed that is why the saint is often a martyr;
he is mistaken for a poison because he is an antidote."
what am i supposed to say?
c.s. loves a good fight
and chesterton could write in his sleep and probably did.
t.s. could think his way out of quicksand
dylan is passed out in the front of my house.
5:15 am
time to shower.
another day


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