for a moment of joy or moments no one pays for, i give myself a ‘jornal’. this makes me rich. try it.

how love is not spelled (two sequences)


on the wall—

scribbled notes

my bank of mementoes

on sand–

footmarks receding

let go of my shadow


prance a quatrain screaming

my loneliness

i step on

angels and unicorns

trapped in the snow

pigeons whoosh up

spray the sky, laughing

at my mud-soaked feet


my broken heart—

wilting like a cabbage rose

in a mulch bed

in the evening

dew on petals splatter

with my tears

under the moon

my fingers on keys–

a pulse


which letter comes first—

evening shower

on the window

a trickle

does not spell love

March 10, 2010 - Posted by | haiku, poetry, sequence | , , ,

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