For the Children We Are Killing

The boy as old as your own

walks to the convenience store


to meet his murderer is disremembered, until

it haunts your own eyes.  No rose-


tinted glasses work here.  The mildly


waifish woman—her efforts to remain silently

unseen are in vain because that just makes her more


mysterious.  She steps into another world she

creates with fingers moving along


typeface.  The page forgets nothing

even when the voice which penned it is cold,

is gone, is no more.


Entropy Elegy

To the sum of a battle cry

can you help?  In the different selves


outside of oneself a sickness has taken

hold.  The sad melody of malady


gripping the heart gone

stunned by reality


seen in plain sight that no

one seems to see. I have


not the language to explain—but I try.  Too


many of this city’s people who would

rather go another day not thinking


because the things they cannot unlearn

are too scary.  Ugly truths


refuse to be forgotten climbing like aggressive

clematis choking out everything in its path


only to bloom and die year after year, after life-

times of forgotten ago.  Vines coil tight to find


stability for the rest of itself with violet and magenta

blooms which fall petal by petal, until they look


to the naked eye as to be dead.