Aftershock

Bone-cold water
scrapes away flakes of skin

beneath his fingernails

and expunges crimson

from his palms.

He swears it was a shuffle of the cards,

a roll of the dice,

a change in the weather--

anything but him.



Published in The 5-2: Crime Poetry Weekly on October 30, 3012

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Coliseum

Blood makes poor mortar

For man’s coliseum;

What a bleak existence

Bony, stretched thin

As the waxing moon.

How cheap is the infrastructure

Of more bricks, less straw.

Blink once, and

It is wiped off the face

Of the earth.

Published in Big River Poetry Review on August 25, 2012

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