Selected Haiku
bruises on her neck—
she asks for “more spicy mayo”
3 times
by the old graveyard
a long train
delays my commute
from the dirt,
dead cicada's wings
remember heaven
walking over a bridge
the pine boards creek—
these bones, turning 30
robin hopping down a footpath
while this life I live—
in the grasses
empty storefront windows
draped in white plastic—
wedding veil, or a funeral?
warm morning at the station—
a squirrels balances on wire
above a moving train
stuck in my shirt
sputtering to get free—
a cicada
cicadas singing
at the public bandstand—
no permit necessary
summer night—
on the submissive's exposed breasts
a lamb sticker
hot summer night—
no clothes,
no fucking, either
the notebook fills with names
of people who are gone
at the end of the year
in the Spring,
just to see
a woodpecker!
this tray of candles
could burn down my house—
last snow thaws
March snows—
where will the rabbits
find a bed
terrible headache
as the Spring storm gathers—
baby sparrows
a tablespoon of
cream, coffee.
happy day.
coffee steaming—
short dog
pees in the grass
with cold coffee cups
a new day—
gather your things
I write haiku
about a cat's friendship—
sudden cat vomit
what is poetry
next to the girl
in my arms
baby crawls through the
bird's-foot trefoil field—
already close to sunset
in midsummer the monarchs
are still small—
but I know who I am
around sunset, a doe dining
on long grass—
lighting bug mood lighting
gnats around my head—
crown for a king
of stink
parked overnight in the city—
in the morning, my car littered
with northern catalpa blossoms
in the soft morning light,
a dozen birds in front of a mural
of a boombox
while I drive again to the doctor
the cicada Thwack!
Thwack! on my windshield
so tired of peace—
a sparrow disembowels
a cicada
on a warm night
the rats join us
for a smoke break
in December fog
I avoid a car accident—
brambles and fresh dew
spring rain—
a duck quacks after
her absent lover
early Spring,
I water my first flower
and kill my first ant
my sister survives
another suicide attempt.
Spring storm.
through the cool night
the lone buck
walks so slow
at year’s end
her baby teeth fall out—
empty flowerbeds
hack hack!
over coffee—
and there's the phlegm.
old coffee pot—
my father brews
another morning.
morning coffee
three at the table, the cat
lapping water—four