The blunt
refusal of his
friend
at his command
threw
the leader of
the tiny
band into rage. The guerilla

stomped around
cold
wet
mountains of Colombia, shooting
Rocks and Trees, his

mind fuzzy
numb
with whiskey
and cocaine
distorted
until he came

up behind
trembling so
and pressed
the steel barrel of his rifle
against the skull
Of his friend.
He pulled

back
a couple of inches
the smooth black rifle
and fired-
into the sky.

The Dance of Shadows

Paleness. Savage winds blow, transparent
And moved, perhaps by some existence
that seeks to ruin out at night. Midnight eyes.
Soul of oceans peer at the dance of shadows:
The mad flailing of dark arms reaching--
Motioning to pull the foamy tides
closer, oh so much closer till the sand
Yields to an uneven path among waves
dissolving--the mild surface of silence

Poetry Magazine