Haiku 37

Image by Andrew Hamlin.
Image by Andrew Hamlin.

Diligent grass pokes
through dirt clods in the storm drain
alleyway sundown

Hope as fall folly
another season of death
come in with the chill

It dies, finally
in the cold rec room, mourners
munching on apples

Wrote Conrad: You fail
“Not through any fault of yours”
thus it slips the Word

At such times, my death
seen from down the road a bit
releases relief

Not enough quorum
so our planned insurrection
too, dies quietly

Certain as fall leaves
freshmen baby-stepping
(up?) (across?) the Ave

Forty-five minutes
into the meeting we get
onto politics

Somebody comes in
starts the sink, rinses the plates
leaves without a word

neither shining nor glowing
bottom of the well

All a numbers game
reaching its critical mass
we just cannot suck

Free as in freedom
or in price, democratic
an average pretzel

For necessity
against militant nonsense
identity wonks

And against the void
sharing a cat video
but we need rewrites

This isn’t just an
accident, but a purpose,
unto a greater…?

meaningless, in the abstract–
ah, citizenry!

The place is the space
but the place is only space
with us placed in

One thousand true fans
is enough for one lifetime
depending on who

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