ant5

the bus grows somewhat quiet I ring the bell

greeting a stranger in the smell of baked chicken

lonely for ideas I have never had

ottery tickets

while you were sleeping the bees began dying

I blow smoke into the opening of the phone bill

geese nibble the dark stuff we have our separate rooms

one dandelion
seed clings to the stalk
no diagnosis

 
a leaking faucet
butterflies mating in
all this smog

 
rain drops catch
the lamps and
strike my face

 
visible only in
the shaft of light
a circling fly

 
storm clouds
a circling crow
drifts eastward

 
the buildings
disappear a coot
surfaces

 
the radio
barely audible
late at night

 
the snails have
paid more attention
than I have

 
my finger follows
the wet curves
of her ear

 
underneath
the colorful garbage
hints of autumn

 
a lamp left on
in an empty room
sparrows at dusk

 
a moth has flown
out of my mouth
or so it seems

 
drawing blood
she says I look like
my name

“The amusing alter-egos of famous haiku poets”

between two bricks

something moves

a blade of grass

don’t have my tongue in your cheek I have it in mine

Horrendous Tycoon? You mean “Typhoon.”

New Year’s

all the Januaries

I’ve been to

behind the clouds
no brighter than a moon
the white sun

 
in a ziploc bag a sparrow
waits to be buried

 
glare from
the setting sun

 
blocks out
the longs ads on
the side of the bus

 
only a test
the clouds unfurl
reconnoiter

 
we exchange apples
and then eat them

 
the water in the jar
trembles indefinitely
on the surface

 
the photographs
lie to me again

 
that mosquito
that got away

 
on the shelf
in the dust
his body still

 
the dried leaves
move among
the oblivious pedestrians

 
bats who are
lost in the daylight

 
the back of my hand
more distinct than her face

 
the candlelight
jerks around in bluish
circles on the ceiling

 
not the color green
the spinach stains the water

 
a memory of
intermittent sickness
translucent then wavering

 
I assemble a structure
of possible apologies

 
the sidewalk
reeks of rain
the way weeds inhabit cracks

 
it travels over
the reflection of the kitchen light

 
on a steam opaque window
a ladybug
lost in the center of winter

standing in

the kitchen my zippers

all zipped up

they huddle around

themselves the white chairs

in a pile of leaves