Bicycle brakes
sing
to the backed-up beeping truck
☯︎
Clock from the wall
heavier
for ticking in my arms
☯︎
Three fifty-nine–
but four, by clock bells drowning
the bus engine
☯︎
These socks,
so especially good…
(toes rubbing warmer)
☯︎
Abed, I catch
springs grinding or a snore
from the man below
☯︎
Days, these
(rain’s lizard claws on glass)
spent best with friends
☯︎
Twin figures
at the parapet
flicker through flames
☯︎
Wind scurries
torn Lost Cat flyer
past the Stop sign
☯︎
tanka:
Bus lurch,
spent coffee cup on the floor
dances its
half-moon
sun cycle
☯︎
Track backwards–
a clack, from the touch…
curtain to sill
☯︎
tanka:
Oh no,
gasps the boy with
the old man’s
body…
my last cartwheel
☯︎
Back and forth
rolls the can, knowing not full
nor empty
☯︎
A spigot
groans to drip one drop
on roiled earth
☯︎
The fly shifts
between Wednesday and Thursday…
shunning numbers
☯︎
White hair
or a sprung thread,
from the blanket
☯︎
Cracked gallows,
hangman can no longer
climb the stairs
☯︎
Truck horn’s hoot,
ocean liner on land…
best thing all day?
☯︎
Ghost
giggles, half in
half out, of the wall
☯︎
Boiling
on a wet porch ledge near mud…
bitter tea
☯︎
tanka:
My passion
to become the crow,
lasts only
so long
as that red light
☯︎
Alone
with my heart…
I grow wary
☯︎
Train driver,
home at last…
a cottage for sale
☯︎
