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

three works (they say/about the spheres/interpretentions)



they say

mountain clouds

implode in a colic


a stare brings on



snow buntings invite

green eyes


fibrous bones

roll down a mulch hill


a rasp in his caws

one catches


wild weeds

pierce fresh wombs


in a clam shell

of not-thereness




about the spheres


a wink enough
to lift
the moon’s hem

a slivered blue
licks paradise

part grit part
fluff the foaming universe

constellations stringing rocks into falsies

concoctions a boom of moon craters






with my lips, I accept the many ways grass wears dew that Van Gogh kept secret


I agonize so much so that my stomach contracts regurgitating Dali’s white lies


a valley of lilies I hurtle into with eyes closed on Monet skinny dipping


the spastic leg throws of marionettes as Picasso dreamt I can


together shedding barnacles from cliffs chipped clean in cubes Mondrian says his own


thieves inhabit the hippocampus of dawn beetles scaling the spirals of Gaudi’s nights


my singed heart hurts so the onyx solitaire Klee entraps with dancing threads



otata April 2017


February 15, 2018 Posted by | fragments, haiku, poetry, sequence | , , , , , , | Leave a comment