Street Preachers (a poem)

spiritual growth – i used to be preoccupied with it

maybe i still am, fixated on flaws

all the ways i fall short of a standard

even saint francis couldn’t meet

on the streets, i’m incited by insights

from preachers who peddle notions

of salvation & give me holy books

i peruse by glow of lava lamps

in the comfort of compounds

where i keep my secrets

& share my miseries

(Photo by Mark Fletcher-Brown on Unsplash)

Suburban Killer (a poem)

at this juncture, we’ve not found

the serial killer who

stalks the sickened streets

of this suburban town –

turn that frown

upside-down, miss

we’ve got diligent detectives

on the case

looking at every trace

of evidence

storing it in dirty lockers –

we’ll find this psycho-dude

I assure you

& you can go back

to your tranquil life

not worrying ‘bout

these dreadful things

(Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash)