Mourning

It’s rough like canvas– unpainted roads on old sails. Lake won’t fish itself.

Haiku 10/2/18

Distant thunder shakes glass–the world appears behind closed blinds. Hold fast.

Late Shower, Haiku

Condensate from steam sticks to our pink bathroom walls– we missed the morning.

Haiku, 8 March 2018

Balled up like paper, the hood of the car burns–rain wets the tar. We wait.

Haiku, 30 March 2018

Christmas lights, hang on! Spring is twenty days away– hang on to your homes!

Haiku–22 February 2018

above rain puddles, the red of stoplights shimmer– Winter, stay your leave.

Haiku 12/7/17

Housemate’s hairs stick, plague shower floors–winter’s rain, my refuge from the filth.

Apoloku, or Haikology: an explanation

I forgot to post a new poem yesterday– in other news: trees.

Old House

Old house, don’t mind me. I’m hiding from September behind brick and stone.

Late Drive, Haiku 8/31/17

Your left hand against the car’s cold window–through it, fields of ink, the night.