Haiku 13

Photo Credit: Roger Smith. Licensed CC-BY-NC-ND.
Photo Credit: Roger Smith. Licensed CC-BY-NC-ND.
What is this concrete,
such gravel, steel, that rebar
against the dead stars?

Small plane overhead
and a worn van’s chittering
usher out the sun

Empty ice-cream pint
in this, I’ve cultivated
exactly one ant.

Atop dinosaurs
we prance; who can say what, shall
caper over us?

Just gone to purple
the upper sky through my blinds
pale blue over West.

I begin putting
it all together; almost
done, at the green light.

Canned soul singer,
Dixieland street trumpet,
join downtown midair

Terry Hall’s windows
how much they’ve seen; do they catch
that tear of the wrecker?

Decades of students…
now nothing sits inside save
the grinding machines

Daylight Savings, spring
I’m late to the library
on time for the sun.

On a bench with this
guitar; awaiting rebuke…
only the softball field

“Softball’s silly”–and
he stole my lover, so he
must know everything.

Two-hour wait for
the top of the queue,
wrestling Quetzalcoatl

The truck, downshifting
thick chuffle of the air brakes
a pause in the wind

Five ones, he wants
and will he haunt downstairs
ever after, for them?

The sun dries out my
drowned world, warms my toes; I’ll leave
dishes, to insects.

My brother’s birthday
a Portuguese singer soothes
pricked anxiety

The cherry blossoms!
I pity He who grows bored
of them–wait, is that…?

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