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He doesn’t have to
do anything but show up.
Fame does that for you.

such a sweet ride they
didn’t want to leave so they
did Wendy’s drive-thru

She can’t stand her. He’s
her ex, so don’t include them.
Can’t we go alone?

Who will you be, and
from where? What will have brought you
here - mere chance or choice?

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

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

Muddy quads, walls bare
of ivy still inspire awe.
Can we get in?

Ph.D.s waitress
here, M.A.s babysit, ’cause
no one wants to leave.

Wan, pale, red-eyed, she’s
the poster wife of Wynette’s
song, “Stand By Your Man.”

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

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

From an estate sale -
pendulum clock. Westminster
chimes now count my days.

Emily Bronte * labored quietly but I * scream “Here are my words!”

It’s said women swoon
at his rallies, yet his wife
once called him stinky.

It’s fun to see what
it’s like and then go back to
being nobody.

Tourists whisked to the
top while on tenant floors, one
hears “shhhhhhsss” like secrets.

In the skyscraper
canyons, light outlines moving
shapes sipping Starbucks.

Like a jeweler
displaying gems on velvet
wealth gleams beyond reach

A haiku a day?
Not quite. Some days the tap runs,
some days it’s bone dry.

Reclaiming the word,
she grabs the bitch by the horns
and makes us all proud.

With all this trash talk
even the winner comes out
smelling like garbage.

Anyone who makes
Ryan Seacrest sweat deserves
a special Oscar.

So hungry but the
dress fits stumble past photogs
smile stop nod pose smile.

Dreams of Oscars like
sugarplums dance in their heads.
Hollywood’s Christmas.

Going to New York
City. I’ve bought black clothing,
black low-heeled shoes.

At Schooner Bay, iced
tea - 60 cents at Big Lots -
is nearly three bucks.

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

Soldiers wear helmets.
Women wear makeup, styled hair.
Our mode of defense.

J’s Pied Piper calls.
Mecca of offbeat fashion,
she shops in a daze.

Oprah and Barack
sit in a tree, campaign for
the Presidency.

Going to New York
to be on TV. Need new
clothes. A tent would work.

Should I say what I
feel, or what attracts readers?
Tempting to sell out.

Brine, barbecue, deep
fry, roast, smoke? How many ways
can you do one Tom?

If her hair was much
bigger you’d mistake it for
blonde cotton candy.

Why bother with this
service when I keep up with
A Haiku A Day?

In another world
I am prettier, skinny,
naturally blonde.

Cup of coffee gets
you free wireless. Suburban
pretty people lunch.

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Enjoy. Don't steal.

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