friendship

it's not possible.
I think the problem must be-
too much love and hate.

travel

Under a blanket
it was at high altitudes
in love or nauseous?

I once held his hand
his touch was so soothing-but
with a lion's face.

and yet his shoulder-
a pillow and his stomach-
a raft, and I sank.


still in a love dream-
state to state to state to state
home behind eyelids.

confession

confession is all:
it is what my poetry is,
and that is my life.

morning

oh what a fun night

and oh what a beautiful-

slumberous morning.

blind haiku

where I'm coming from-
you cannot "see"-self-blinded-
and not listening.

dolls haiku

old village toy store
has Marie Alexander's
but sister's face, sold.

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.