in late summer

August 24, 2010

on an early morning walk
when headlights and sunlight are scare
i pass the dogwood on the next block
its branches sprawling at shoulder-height
still as night in supplication

i recall its spring blossom
the four milky petals pierced at each end
holding at their center
a cluster of marigold pistols begging to burst

but now: green leaves
wilt from heat and no rain
arcuate veins lead to branches
that lead to nodes that hold
knots of seeds seasonally shifting to red

i take a handful
pocket them like the thief that i am
and make plans to plant them in my house

image that
a tree in my house

end of summer haiku

August 21, 2010

dessicated grass
sends up dust when mowed;
the heat wilts leaves.

i was gone july
but have since returned;
so i’ve no excuse…

home-ku

August 1, 2010

the smell of rain-
soaked soil;
the door’s swinging sound.

haiku

July 2, 2010

the firefly lights
then fades–
we wait.

haiku

June 28, 2010

on the butterfly bush:
four
butterflies

haiku

June 15, 2010

a tree rustles
as sunlight and wind move through:
a wasp on my forearm.

it’s water

June 8, 2010

as the train approached our stop
we saw the edge of the storm
a wall of rain quickly advancing

when we stepped onto the platform
into the deluge the other passengers
laughed at our misfortune

we held our umbrellas like shields
they flailed and failed to protect us
the wind carried water in all directions

in seconds our shoes were sponges
wet clothes clung to wet skin
three blocks never seemed so far

but laughing beneath our umbrellas
loud enough so the other could hear
three blocks never seemed so near.

working memory

June 2, 2010

i try to recall the park that night
(beneath a sea of stars?):
how we walked around the pond (twice?)
our hands brushed (by accident?) as we
sat upon the cold (wooden?) bench,
how you looked wearing my (grey?) hat
with your (silver?) hoop earrings
as you slipped off your (shoes?)
and i tried not to shiver.

the details are foggy,
elusive approaching fictitious,
but what remains are two things: that
feeling that something
really fucking great
was about to happen
and the taste of the scent of the leaves.

haiku

June 2, 2010

in the grass
amid shards of glass:
amaranth.

haiku

May 27, 2010

searching
in sunlit waist-high grass:
a flower for her sister.

the bank teller from last month:
a gun pressed to his temple
eyes closed he trembled like a leaf
trying to put bills into a bag
i have a wife, three kids…please…
i approached noiselessly
said something witty, something dark
and before the crook could turn in surprise
i snapped his neck his body fell to the floor in a heap
thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou
said the teller.
the other day he quit his job
left his wife
left his kids
figuring life is short, said fuck this,
got into his car and drove across town
into the arms of another.

why do i fight for this world
when they do all they can to destroy it?

the old lady from last week:
her feeble cries for help
barely lifted from the flames
the smoke choked her ancient lungs
she felt the heat of Death’s breath
i crashed through the weakened roof
tossed flaming furniture from my path
found her in the corner
scooped her gently into my arms
leapt down six stories to safety
thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou
said the old lady.
an investigation later revealed
the source of the conflagration:
her meth lab.
and
in the other room:
the charred remains of
her four-month-old granddaughter.

why do i fight for this world
when they do all they can to destroy it?

the prime minister yesterday
impeccable his in his new suit
stood at the podium pontificating
oblivious to the sniper’s crosshairs.
he would later say when he heard the shot
his life flashed before his eyes
but I moved across the stage
swift as light
caught the bullet in my right hand
presented it to him as a souvenir
thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou
said the prime minister.
today he declared war
in retaliation for the attempt on his life
half a million soldiers prepare for battle
saying goodbye to childrenwiveshusbandsbrotherssistersmothersfathers
taking up their guns
promising to write
promising to make everyone proud.

why do i fight for this world
when i should destroy it?

haiku

May 19, 2010

the clouds
reforming–
a puddle’s reflection.

A house with a tree

May 18, 2010

I want house with a tree out front
the kind of tree whose branches reach out, real low
declaring its domain
at least twenty feet each way
the kind of tree whose limbs are a nest
blocking out the sun
submersing us in shade
giving us space to be alone
the kind of tree with leaves the size of an open hand
that, in the fall, burn red on one side
yellow on the other
and in a sun-drenched October wind shimmer
like all of your favorite memories.

senryu

May 14, 2010

umbrella in hand
i leave the apartment–
surprised by so much sun.