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Haiku 63

Photo by Andrew Hamlin. CC-BY-SA.

Hot slick–
tossed coffee
through the tree roots

☯️

Seagulls, shitting
reflexively
down 12th Avenue

☯️

He itches
to rip up
that dandelion garden

☯️

Filled hole–
how old, that dogshit
at the bottom

☯️

Green spider,
wheat chaff
stuck to its web

☯️

To know one purpose–
scratch of a match
to the pilot light

☯️

Hillside stream…
hyacinth bent
in penance

☯️

Red toy truck,
front wheel crimped; heart sticker
to windshield

☯️

Traveling company!
…such dust as won’t
surrender my shoes

☯️

How to split
the raven from the crow?
(Both looking in)

☯️

tanka:
Trumpet valve…
fingertip…
an instant between
idea of a note–
and pressure

☯️

Still scented
in popcorn
from the night before

☯️

One flash
his hand through the strap–
bus brakes

☯️

At the end–
one broken sob…
she shuts the door

☯️

Dusty shelf…
someone bought
the can of baked beans

☯️

Hiking east…
concern for the turtle
in a streetside tank

☯️

Red lantern
jolted…
caboose rear end

☯️

Cobweb-spackled
grease spots…
Memory remnants

☯️

Library stroll–
wind to my face…
twenty-two months

☯️

Spring at last…
a raven primps
by the poplar tree

☯️

Freight whistle blat…
the satyr hides
his holy pipes

☯️

…and what becomes
of smoke?
(I’ve never known)

☯️

The crow strikes me–twice?
(Have I written of them
too often?)

☯️

In tune?
aluminum bat
to a softball

☯️

Brokedown thresher
slumped
by the mill stream

☯️

The Master’s
enlightenment, dances
with fireflies

☯️

Clownfish,
waves its fins…
silt misting

☯️

I’ll watch the stars
so long
as I have eyes

☯️


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