Haiku 12

Photo Credit: IamNotUnique. Licensed cc-nc-sa
Photo Credit: IamNotUnique. Licensed cc-nc-sa

Music from the church
at this distance, I will hear
only blended souls.

What would Gang of Four
say about this construction
between me and freeze?

Against unhappiness
paprika on potato
contends to the taste.

An intimate act
summoning optimism
that I’ll see the moon.

Not so much the wind
as the shutter cord’s tapping,
the ebb of sirens.

Mill that fine, grinders!
your machine shall erode
one day in high forest

Mexican diner
fiesta music bounces
off empty tables

Elevator door
somebody’s cooking sausage
I won’t know the name.

All is in fact one
and I must find communion
with these dog shit lumps.

Could be a bad night,
but I hate him on the right
within mere minutes.

“Love is a practice”
and that’s what I take from him
thirty minutes in.

Tonight the siren
takes the form of a thin scream
beneath the drizzle.

For one sunlit hour
I escape my punishment
shall I remember?

The concrete spreader,
hungry orange pelican
brown hose for its worm.

Scrubbed-out coffee cup
its stain traveled so quickly
to my yellow sponge.

Ask not for whom
the cell phone rings; on this bus
no one will answer.

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