Blame It on the Huehuetenango

If you were on a boat drifting lazily away from the last safe and good place you had ever known, and as you drift you were alternately staring at where you came from, and then where you seem to be heading, this is the book you would write. These are poems of faith, poems of the struggle to have faith, poems of anguish over lost faith, and poems about what crazy things we do when we think we have found faith. This is poetry written for humans, not for poets. It is accessible, wry, hopeful, and just a bit crazy. This is a soundtrack for a drive across the country of belief that has certainty and absolute truth at the beginning, and confusion, doubt, mystery, and joy at the end.