Poems

A Hare Raising Spell (Prose)Allow me to draw you into the marrow of terror, to the unassuming heart of a hamlet whose peace would be stripped bone-bare, devoured by the creeping jaws of an ancient evil. This village, so picturesque it might have been painted by the hands of nostalgia itself, sat settled where the […]

Your Tent’s on Fire (But We Saved the Parking Lot)“Beautify your street today!Scrub the poor. Cement the gray.”A jingle hums from digital speakersas bulldozers idle at dawn,A city’s PR crew ready with brushes,ready to paint the desperate gone.She stitched a bed from plastic bags and thread,Behind the grocery where castoffs are fed.A mayor beamed for

Zoom BaptismSanctified by signals, prayers pass through glass,A choir raised in static, lit by screensthat never last.Confession lingers in the bandwidth,buffered by a neural trance,While pious hands remain unseen, absolved by distance, luck,and chance.A priest’s voice filters, ironed flat by zeroes riding datastream,Sins are catalogued in secret,“Amen” drowned in comments’ stream.Blessed be the WiFi—father, ghost,and

Yellow RibbonsThe bumper sticker says support the troops with a yellow ribbon shape,I served two tours so maybe I can weigh into the tape,the ribbon is a sentiment and sentiments are fine,but support might mean some other things besides the sign. Support the troops means fund the VA when they come back broken,support the troops

Your Favorite MartyrCarved in the dark of fevered rooms, a name etched deep where flesh can’t heal,Wounds worn smooth by worship’s hands,lips pressed tight against the steel—Each secret branded with intent,the devotion measured in the scar,The altar built from hope’s remains,the prayer for love not who you are.A promise whispered sharp and sweet,the knife that

Where Have You GoneYour shadow lingers in the amber dawn,Pressed on the bedroom wall, stretched thinand drawn.Empty sheets still cool from the night before,A hollow on the mattress, absence settled at the core.I reach into that space,hands slow, half-awake—As if fingers might pull you from air for memory’ssake.The kitchen hums with your absence, every sound

WiFi in the WombLogged and counted before a single gasp of air could carve its mark,Assigned a number long before a kiss, a bruise, a spark,She filmed the black-and-white, the first blurred glimpse,in streaming clarity—A heartbeat pulsed for strangers,lost in filtered sincerity.Registry links before the crib,affiliate codes for rattled toys,A digital wish list written by

We’ll Meet AgainNight falls thicker than prophecy, stars swallowed by old hunger,Yet through the dusk, the silence is never pure—It’stattooed with the murmur of bonds unbroken,With names half-remembered, drifting past what flesh canendure.The world can break its axis, fires can swallow the plains,Cities can rot to ashes and lovers be lost to the undertow—But somewhere

What Are We Dying ForThe sergeant read the orders and we loaded up at five,and nobody asked the question that was keeping us alive,what are we dying for, what piece of what idea,what sentence in what policy is worth the body here. The colonel had a briefing and the colonel had a cause,the colonel had

War on the Wrong ChannelThe city glows in shellfire, history scrolls beneath reality TV,Flesh and flags trade places while the camera stays on a celebrity’s plea.Amother pulls a child from the rubble as a chef cracks jokes on a screen,The world is burning on mute,but the ratings remain serene.A missile erases a neighborhood—one thumb tap,then