repetative haiku

the form will shape me
the sadness creeps as it would-
and the child dies young.

guitar on her hip
she sleeps so very soundly
so the very sound-

the sound will sorround
in her black and red cliche
checkerboard jumping.

they say that no life
is better than one life is-
better than nothing.

disloyal and sad-
there are people in this world-
hopping, leaping mad,

heartaches and toothaches and with
hanging twisted rope
they actually do it.

a reflex kicking
you are only fingers and-
yet you do not grasp-

complete, this is it.
a snowshoe crunches forward.
gone, I am so gone.