Haiku
1
The flowers have bloomed
and the locusts devour
any sign of life.
2
Oily dressing with
the pit-marked spinach leaves on
my baby-blue plate.
3
A doe has died on
the searing blacktop. It still
continues to smile.
4
My gaze, downward, with
all the plastic faces here;
coffee stains shirt brown.
5
Break up in tiny
distinct pieces. Now, your heart
is not the same.
6
Please and thanks and a
firm handshake is how killers
pay the bills these days.
7
Cigarette smoke and guns
smell the same when under the
fires of starlight.
8
“Just after this drink,”
courtesy of bars who let
their lights fizzle out.
