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


the measured widths we shrink into

talking in the darkness like late crickets heaving up a molehill

a cackle of office meniscus

summer drizzle a wet stone growing an ear

in a sonogram frog song

lollipops in the basket some promises un-swapped

war of the fishes stilled in a pitted clam shell


otata November 2017


February 28, 2018 - Posted by | haiku, poetry, sequence, Uncategorized | , , , , ,

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