lips slip
the petal brush
of spring
September 2015
just for now
a cloud against blue
is all that is
just five senses—
how much more of spring
can I take in?
this body
how it breaks down
in the moon
haiku party—
a frog distances itself
from its past
event horizon—
all the places
I am not
writers' block
no longer can they read
my Facebook posts
spring rain now
and at the hour
when it falls
spring seedlings—
with my ancestors
in the rain
waxing moonlight—
a spring concupiscence
invades the garden
plum tree,
hold back with me
the passing day
gentle breeze—
a mist shadow drifts
across her veil
by moon mist
the black swan song sung
in some lake
on earth too
nullified human
remains
haiku poet:
a low carbon worker
at the coal-face
of being
afterbirth—
an ancient darkness
stirs the earth
parting shot
sunlight glances off
the coffin's sheen
spring rain
wiping agape eyes
free from tears
dark energy—
in summing it all up
the words I cling to
in spring rain
the cries of the slain
also rise
water sound
without frog
without pond
lengthening days—
childhood shadows stretch
farther away
in its wings
already the butterfly's
afterlife
spring or autumn?
two thirds marked out now
the beast in me
post-literate decapitalation of conSumerian scripts
avant-garde dogs my words neither gnawed back to bare bones
the clarity!
dawn awakening
a nick in time
crescent moon—
intelligence sources
swap kill lists
homeless sky—
a shore-borne child dies
to free will
windowed moon:
with two of everything
the pauper's thief
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