March 2016

autumn leaves
not now but then
when winter comes
within
without a breath
dead words
mud-baked
a phantom dwelling
under the basho
nothing more
the ever-presence
death evades
trumpet rally
evangelicals summon
their golden calf
tapping still
against my eye-lids
cave-red palms
breath pause . . .
a moment's suspension
in monotones
autumn rain . . .
I write myself out
of my haiku
 
 

a race memory relaxes into its present tense

morning light
a good day to die
to oneself

there where i am no longer

autumn morn . . .
a monarch rises up
its gibbet
after the fall
fifty shades
of pink
autumn rise . . .
rustles of the past
in the wind
wine-dark eyes . . .
across a drunken sea
purpling grapes
selfie-bait
t(w)ittering behind
fanned fingers
on cue
a line-up
of falling leaves
a leaf
alert at last
in autumn rain
all in all
an ocean washes up
in birth cries
 
left behind
a prophetic utterance
of its ending
 
step by step
we continue on
alone
 

a dream I make of the just now

 

now and then
I become the wake 
I leave behind
 
all at sea
a wine drop dark
to its soul
 
until her smile
just a universe
becoming
 
 
on edge
my pen tip at odds
with my words
 
 
autumn light
mountains solidify
into view
Lent deepens –
will stones stave off
this hunger?
Lenten light –
I see by it now 
what I am not
the breakdown
of platitudes
by daylight