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)

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.

(Photo by rishi on Unsplash)