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Panera’s didn’t
call, nor Applebee’s. Rejec-
tion’s hard at sixteen.
Formally over
twelve years of learning to look
good on this one night.
The play was about
them. His unrequited love
her indifference.
All around it, the
town is dead. Pity the poor
taken investors.
In wordless despair
M dissolves in tears clutching
me like a life vest.
An adult blankie.
To take one from its owner
will make grown men cry.
When I stay up late
my thoughts move oddly like lab
mice stunted by drugs.
Hunched and hobbling I
move as if years older, a
taste of what’s to come.
Haiku, like bonsai,
needs care and pruning. A mind
unfocused kills both.
on another blog
gross comment deposited
like defecation
Now that the snow is
gone, her neglected garden
pokes up stalks of loss.
Wan, pale, red-eyed, she’s
the poster wife of Wynette’s
song, “Stand By Your Man.”
While I throw pennies
into a coin jar, Bear Stearns
gets a big bailout.
When a righteous man
is caught with his pants down, it’s
likely he’ll get spanked.
posted to my Twitter account
I need sleep, but I * need to work but I need sleep * to work can’t think straight.
Geeks transformed into
leading men stop hearts, but then
revert back next day.
Left in Manhattan
cab. Friends’ numbers, pix of my
kids in strangers’ hands.
Spring ahead and lose
an hour. What I could have done
in that length of time…
I am the dull one, struck
mute by accomplishment
what I do, nothing.
Flushing Meadows Park
once a site of hope. There, a
globe pledged future peace.
On a cluttered Queens
balcony he stands, watching
the complex decay.
Just over five months
This one four hundred fifty
Art or wasted time?
A haiku a day?
Not quite. Some days the tap runs,
some days it’s bone dry.
With all this trash talk
even the winner comes out
smelling like garbage.
J9 can’t sleep since
her mother died stays up and
writes heartache in tears.
Dreams of Oscars like
sugarplums dance in their heads.
Hollywood’s Christmas.
TV morphs into
loser land infomercials
for acne weight loss
What of those born on
the 29th, their birthday
once every four years?
Longing to hug them,
I wait ’til they flutter near
like moths to my flame.
Luminous suitor,
the moon dimmed by darkness’s
seductive regard.
Teenager curled up
becomes baby J who’s glad
that mommy’s nearby.
Bright lipstick fools them
into thinking I’m well. No
“How do you feel?”
After the illness
taste dulls on the tongue, food just
fuel to run this husk.
Clock ticks ricochet
like bullets of sound slowing
as the hour grows late.
Dressing room mirror
replaced by funhouse looking
glass. Not me in there.
Reality makes
me sick. Going through laugh track
cop show withdrawal.
Disappointment like
a kidney punch makes it hard
to smile through the pain.
He had a dream but
his murder was our nightmare.
It’s time to wake up.
Never read the play
before you see it performed.
There’s too much drama.
Intention shines high
above like a star I see
and dream of reaching.
My fingers talk my
eyes listen my head makes it
up my heart hungers.
Sleep gently takes you,
like the lethal injection
you cannot resist.
Not enough time for
cookies, cards, decorating.
Which one do I skip?
Like catching snowflakes,
this melts quickly from the heat
of a stressful month.
If you had to pick,
what sense would you sacrifice?
Impossible choice.
Could I love you if
we did not touch, if I did
not mark you as mine?
The house of my heart
is white, clean, pure. No windows,
doors. No visitors.