Poem: The Life of Cogs

The night air tastes like industry
Carbon monoxide and ozone
Even at night when the workers sleep
It hangs in the empty streets
Filling the lungs of the people
With the work they left behind

Poem: God’s Chosen Chattel

In the valleys and fields
Mountain homes and other
Far flung places
Away from the coasts
The urban areas where ideas
Are exchanged by the multitude
They gather in the enclaves
In little white churches
Praying to a god who left