Loners.
Be the lone tree shivering in the forest,
Listening to the footsteps of a lone wolf,
Listening to the footsteps of a lone prey.
This is not a haiku.
A series of poems that could be haikus, but sadly are not.
Or just eat the whites.
Taste and feast upon,
The fresh yolk of life,
And pray not for,
Salmonella.
Still young til sunset.
The day is young with bright eyes,
Chubby cheeks and a small bald spot,
Small clenching hands that cling on,
To the yellow setting sun.
Fry the carp.
Seize the moment, sure,
But don’t squeeze its brains out,
On the celebratory floor.
Poison blue.
I painted the sky blue,
And gave everyone lead poisoning.
I tried to apologize, but then it began raining.
It’s a painful repetition, and I always lose my chapstick.
My lips are hurt, chapped and raw,
I pick at them when I feel hurt, chapped and raw,
Which makes my lips hurt, chapped and raw.
Monkey wrench.
What it is to be a clunky monkey wrench,
Pure doubts at a very real sentience;
Doesn’t matter for all those ruined plans ahead.
Family Tattoo on Flickr.
I don’t take decaf.
Somewhere in this dark sea of bitterness,
The sweet caffeine is surely worth it,
Of this world contained in a paper cup.
