the wise man mutters a prayer
flails his arms in the air
tells me i should not care
about the material world
he swirls in a trance
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Criminals (a poem)
I dream of criminals, being a witness to misdeed
men with dark eyes do dark things in motel rooms
tell me to keep my mouth zippered shut –
I wake with a sense of dread
storm clouds gather outside frosted windows
a woman with an umbrella screams
then runs for her life.
(Photo by Lacie Slezak on Unsplash)
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The Hate Machine (a poem)
Step into the Hate Machine and scroll down
and see the venom – It’s the information apocalypse:
Keep scrolling ‘till you feel dread and inject a diatribe into
the living, breathing Hate Machine – the collective angst
that rolls, rolls, rolls like an unstoppable force –
our mouths foamed, teeth bared, claws sharpened,
ready for a feeding.
