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Being green we use
fabric bags old boxes to
wrap gifts. No trees die.

My door open, but
the rooms are empty, thoughts like
forgotten relics.

Can days be merry
and bright? Jobs – like ornaments -
fragile, out of reach.

Has it really been
a month since I told you all
about my day, dear?

Earthworms emerge, splayed
across sidewalks, tender skin
snags on rough concrete.

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

Hunched and hobbling I
move as if years older, a
taste of what’s to come.

Incrementally
I clean unearthing a clear
space on the table.

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.

posted to my Twitter account

I need sleep, but I * need to work but I need sleep * to work can’t think straight.

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…

“We’re domestic,” a
blonde woman tells her daughter
in line at the gate.

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.

Accomplished nothing
’til I took Motrin a whip
that tamed this tiger

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

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

Teenager curled up
becomes baby J who’s glad
that mommy’s  nearby.

After the illness
taste dulls on the tongue, food just
fuel to run this husk.

Reality makes
me sick. Going through laugh track
cop show withdrawal.

He had a dream but
his murder was our nightmare.
It’s time to wake up.

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Enjoy. Don’t steal.

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© Copyright 2008 Gimble
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