Blunt Force 

There are 

finger prints 

on 
the handles of 
daggers 

that rest
 in our dying chests.

Let’s not sugarcoat

the obvious — we did this
 

to each other, you and I.

Building A Mystery

you come out at night
that’s when the energy comes
and the dark side’s light
and the vampires roam
you strut your rasta wear
and your suicide poem
and a cross from a faith
that died before Jesus came
you’re building a mystery