Eat My Haiku

Month: June, 2012

the purging

Instead of a destructive, emotional implosion,

I expunge the remaining sadness.

I lie gazing at the brown, stained ceiling,

dirty paint chips peeling in random splotches;

Fan blades amalgamate the blood spatter

its expression a swirling, spiraling strawberry cone.

Unplanned, I purge and laugh hysterically

at life’s misfortunes.  I’ve missed my jiggling belly,

smiling, and happiness, and so I meditate:

my essence is everlasting and intact; it will be okay.



Blood flows down her nose

steel boots crunch his throaty cough

she stabs till he’s done

I don’t trust my nitrogen molecule

My thoughts are like a molecule of nitrogen.

It might spend some time in the soil,

and then be converted to a snails chitin,

or it might float around aimlessly in the atmosphere.

I’m not sure where I will find my little ephemeral buddy,

or what it will even look like. In fact, I don’t even depend

on him having any form at all; I simply know that he exists.


I don’t trust my nitrogen molecule. He sometimes tells me he is going to Florida,

but then makes a beeline for California, concealing himself as jet fuel.

Once, he called me from jail, telling me he needed to get bailed out.

But that was also a lie.  To know the truth of  my nitrogen molecule,

I need to catch him when his guard is down, and bring him to my favorite

analytical chemist to test his conformation. But even then, he may just swim away,

and escape in a new and unrecognized form.

bicycle dust

Thoughts are dust trailing

a bicycle. Beliefs are

cracks within the road.


You There, By the Raunchy Rocks!

Wipe my Blood off your Fat Lips

before it is wasted on your dirty chin!

Do not hide from me, YOU are the one

that turned me into this repressed Killer.

We must return to the truth, soulbound,

quaffing beakers of our blood, together.

I’m not a shaman

I’m not a shaman –

If you also need healing,

let’s hold each other.

safety pillow

Embarrassed, diving

into her pillow, she feared

revealing herself.


(published in “Haiku Journal”, volume 11)

no exposition

(No exposition from the letter writer).

Late fall in a Wyoming dry-land prairie,

the grasses firmly unite

(they do not sway, do not speak).


The distant Antelope watch me;

apprehensive and aware of my presence,

afraid they will be seen and hunted.

I shoot grey photo’s of the herd,

walk against the grains,

and beyond the game trail

(dejected and stung by a honeybee).

more impermanence

oh yay, I think I

finally got it. Oh no,

it’s gone again.

despondent snowflakes fall

Despondent snowflakes fall surreptitiously on windows,

insulation for my second floor apartment on Scarlet Place.

I’ve no vision of the clay brick-lined street outside,

only of the spicy hot cocoa steaming on the sill.

I fall sad and silent, knowing that children aren’t playing,

with smiles and chilly cheeks- making angels in the snow.


The past is so short (When will you leave me in your past?)

Our  lips graze gently:  thin, soft, and intimately together.

I held your naked body tightly, for protection from my fears,

my belly against your back, my (now) placid penis comforted by your ass,

my leg wrapped around your hip, my arm held you tight, close, and didnt’ want to let you go.

I felt the contours of your face and body with my fingertips:

the paper thin lips, the cute chubby cheeks, your nipples and squishy breasts.


the present is fleeting (How long until you are no longer with me? You did? when?)

I am not prepared, as I was with other women. I always knew I’d

leave them some day. But, by you, I am blinded by dreams of your happiness.

I expected there would be more. With others I knew of an end.


and the future so far away 

where are you?

ephemeral stream

ephemeral stream –

rocky feet and no woody arms

she hopes for spring rain