I H8 National Haiku Month
One reason to dread February: “National Haiku Month” and the abominations committed against this ancient form by well-meaning syllable-counters too presumptive and lazy to get it right or even give a shit. While it may seem petty to ponder this subject as the world burns around us, “haiku” stripped of its technical and thematic elements…
Sugar Season Haiku Cycle
Spontaneous, no-revision haiku scrawled in a fit of boredom…. Snow concedes, contracts Shadows shorten with each dawn Totems bleed sweetness Electric drill whirs Thirteen miles of plastic hose Grandpa had a bucket Good dry wood burns clean A grey squirrel tail, smoke and steam Sweet in the hollow.
A Percussionist Made It Personal–repaired draft
one thousand drums thrum rhythmic primal pulse beats still not fit to kiss verse
A pencil-stemmed girl Stands fist raised on a table Curses defiance Goblin black stormclouds Enshroud peaks, squash alpenglow Pour, blow, flash hate love. She cackles at the wind Bring it, motherfucker, yes You surly bastards!
South of Lander
Sagebrush Wyoming Redtail keen on the fencepost Hundred-mile sunset.
weedy creek wrinkles moon
weedy creek wrinkles moon autumn owl shadow glides silentmouse kneels under burnt grass
Warm amber ardor Sweet rye sun, charcoal filtered Joy-propulsion juice.