August One: never a friend.
It speaks of deadlines, and nights
Measured in worry, not love.
(sniff) I ran this morn,
But that smells like pure skid mark.
Is my coffee bad?
Schleiermacher sucks.
So does studying eight hours straight.
But coffee’s real nice.
A Serious Haiku
******
Beginnings don’t end.
Each year, we start, we start over
Bringing guests along.
A Haiku for Lindsay
****
Poop! Nothing compares.
Matoke, rice, coffee, beer:
Craptastic every day.
If fashion lives our thoughts,
Cotton fear and skin blindness,
I’m reading your mind.
Ice cream and zombies:
Both with cold hands, both with taste,
Only one bites back.
Wet blanket air hangs,
Beer cools lips, warms hearts, lifts heads.
Water turned to wine.
So…do you date much?
Yeah…me too. It’s so awkward.
Hey, are you going to eat that?
Dressed Like 25
Heart of 12, Mind of 17
Nabokov yawns again.
Suitcase brims and bursts
Tired eyes meet waiting arms
Where did those keys go?
**
Leaves scrape concrete walks.
Winds blow grey, and hearts burn bright.
Wool socks on cold toes.
**
Writing: sex sans joy.
Words copulate and birth pages.
I drown in their kids.
