Haiku 34


The train driver’s shades
twin mirrors over a beard
making us matchsticks

Keith Jarrett’s pipe organ
am I the sole Earthling
afloat on its swells?

One a.m., jailhouse
lamps no longer glow yellow
a prayer for the moon

Dad in ICU
I took time out to stare at
an oil on canvas

Everything exists
as a pushing-back against
that silent surround

The chalk tiger’s eyes
and one forepaw–all that’s left
after the rain lifts

White boat churns white spray
lead-grey waters, soft storm clouds
the rain hesitates

“Found!”–a note stuck on
the bus stop–and how happy
I am for this one!

His splay-foot shuffle
to the #2 bus; but
what else has he lived?

The gyro food truck
no business today beside
Main Street and Second

A good friend tells me
to fuck myself–still, cream cheese
cupcakes on the bus

Shredded window shade
locked-up halfway down, lets in
what nature conjures

Four hundred souls
Chichikov’s buying; and would
you sign his contract?

Water seeks a fish
to remind it of motion
and perhaps a kiss

Hundreds of CDs
but the Psychedelic Furs
only on cassette

Poster pinned backwards
on my door; I ponder it
from the other side

And just maybe
their divinity, indeed
a twelve-pack of Schlitz

Bud Powell’s solo
the oculus of a snail
which one more complex?

Spin cycle dying
“red lips of the octopus”
keeps me company

my head-shaking won’t change that
football season’s back

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