Apoloku, or Haikology: an explanation

Apoloku, or Haikology: an explanation

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

Old House

Old House

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

Late Drive, Haiku 8/31/17

Late Drive, Haiku 8/31/17

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

Haiku, 8-24-17

Haiku, 8-24-17

A napkin blossoms near the wet glass full of ice– main street falls quiet.

Sweat (Haiku 7/13/2017)

Sweat (Haiku 7/13/2017)

SWEAT The fan oscillates. Secret rebellion against summer. Ice, please.

Haiku 5/11/17

Haiku 5/11/17

He writes a haiku. I know. Took me long enough. Meanwhile, tulips wilt.

Haiku for 3/16/2017

Haiku for 3/16/2017

The volume knob turns as if friction were a dream– coke sizzles on tongues.

Haiku for 3/10/2017

Haiku for 3/10/2017

Under the new snow the girl’s car plays hide and seek– Au revoir, fastfood.

Haiku renga’d 3/2/2017

Haiku renga’d 3/2/2017

The winter wind blows over the field at sunset– no birds for branches. The trees, empty and alive, grow too slow for me to see. Has not Spring arrived? Look! The young grass hesitates! Within, children snooze. Their beds are near the windows; do not let the cold air in.

Haiku 4/23/17

Haiku 4/23/17

The fan turns and blows the notes off of the printer– fog against the pane.