I fell in love with Death

The day I grew flowers

In the arid shadows

of his graveyard under

the blood red flesh of the

pomegranate tree there.



Mercy for the Reaper

I met him on the corner of Second and Main

One afternoon, walking home from nowhere.

He stood so still, I tried not to stare.

Benjamin Knight, military sniper, code-name Reaper.

In his voice I heard dark rooms filled with secret deserts

And the sound of bones breaking from

The mercenary desolation of subsisting.

But in his eyes I saw the shadows, darker than any nightmare,

Splinter around the dreams he keeps locked away.



Death’s First Day: in (an almost) sestina

It was the first time I killed a man.

Just shortly after 2 am.

Three people passed by unawares.

The fourth called an ambulance.

After five minutes of chest compressions

He was declared dead six minutes before.


A little while later six detectives convened

a solitary meeting to discuss possible suspects.

The five who made the list were interrogated

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Since I last took a sip

And drowned

In the river

A few millimeters deep

That ran down your face

When I answered,

“Til death.”