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She keeps it displayed
to remind herself that once
she didn’t know it

Directed at me
all day it follows me from
room to room in heat.

Expected to know
all the dishes, servers eat
the entire menu.

He tours in a case
like an aged Ken, “mint in box”
they’d say on eBay.

No one waters them.
Tiny cells plead, but TV
seems more important.

My weirdness is as
apparent in my kids as
streaks in a fake tan.

Like cows with their cud
we would chew constantly, and
then we’d all swallow.

An adult blankie.
To take one from its owner
will make grown men cry.

not sure what’s so fun
about a day when we’re all
afraid we’ll get punk’d

When I stay up late
my thoughts move oddly like lab
mice stunted by drugs.

Night winds roar like a
giant parent screaming “Go
to sleep!” without words.

Shopped a membership
warehouse store today. Got six
years’ worth of ketchup.

haiku from Trisha who was there

Gay flight attendant
Shares gender stereotype
Astounds passengers

When a righteous man
is caught with his pants down, it’s
likely he’ll get spanked.

posted to my Twitter account

Project due and I * like the late adopter I * am, haven’t finished.

Geeks transformed into
leading men stop hearts, but then
revert back next day.

Spring ahead and lose
an hour. What I could have done
in that length of time…

“Read my poem? Please?”
In real life I’d get blank stares.
Here, you’re back for more.

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.

‘Beware!’ Caesar was
told. Like teens in horror films
he didn’t listen.

What’s that mean? That spring’s
a dominatrix, whipping
March ’til it submits?

Headgear gone wild I
tip my hat to idiots
who have flipped their lids.

Anyone who makes
Ryan Seacrest sweat deserves
a special Oscar.

Secretive. Works for
the CIA. Won’t say where
it’s been for four years.

Like the extra hour
when we fall ahead, this one
day a trick in time.

see also Inconstant blogger

That you’ve found me and
read my life in seventeen
syllables floors me.

He drank to excess
so why am I the one with
the splitting headacne?

Bjork’s swan an urban
red carpet legend. Today
beauty takes no risks.

Midnight ghosthunting
at a tragic landmark seems
like a cool idea

What of those born on
the 29th, their birthday
once every four years?

Grey army trenchcoat
or lime green sixties jacket
J can pull off both.

The Director’s Cut
in her hands M reads snuggled
with her Uglydoll.

Ransacks the kitchen.
Demands she needs chocolate.
Pacified by Dove.

“Can’t I vote for a
Democrat?” Republican
guy asked. “Mine all suck.”

In a misguided
effort I peeled off half my
face and left the hair.

Bloody mess of a
play that has you laughing at
clots of gore and death.

I stop posting in
the blogosphere.  No one reads
me. Do I exist?

With short hair he looks
like a grey human baby.
He’ll never talk back.

The more I write the
more I lose my hold on words
that speak without me.

My fingers talk my
eyes listen my head makes it
up my heart hungers.

Commute through fiber
optic cable to a home
built by words not deeds

Island band’s Christmas
tunes with a reggae twist our
dinner serenade.

She PhotoShops her
self covered with blood spatters
loves puppies, is sweet.

God rest ye merry
gentlemen? I don’t see them
lifting a finger!