sometimes

sometimes clouds look like mountains.
sometimes mountains look like stairs.
these mountains mades of cases.
these mountains made of air.

sometimes breezes feels like breath.
sometimes breath feels like hair
floating in the seafoam froth
of waves' persistent wear.

sometimes might is a virtue.
sometimes virtue also errs.
errors made in conscience.
errors made in care.

Boring sky haiku

in the dusking sky--
clouds parting for blankness,
parting for nothing

HELLo

Hi there?

YOu like BLOGS obviously.

Well, have you herd of this BLOB?

Its called: Martian BLOG.

If you read Martian BLOG, you wil know what is happening in Martia

Its is far way, but INternet goes far.

(this is a lesson in the USE OF AGREEMESNT DUH)

AS a English Literature marjor,

I say that ERson Welles was NOT goood at movies.

I know what SYMBOLSIM is and the sled is stupid.

ON THE

Promise Ring Haiku(s)

In my teens, listening
to music by teenagers
pining for their past,

nostalgic for their
red red wagons, I never
saw the irony.

Now here, sipping black
beer in a dark living room
in a cold silence

interrupted by
the static of the baby
monitor, I

finally finally hear
these words: "Like fire you never
really know what's there."

Well then

at dusk the neighbor ninjas battle in our front yard: the older with wooden sword, his sister with y-end stick to catch and push.

later a picture on the internet: my father, age 11, and his brother, bundled against the cold, contort their faces for the camera, gnash their teeth and stick out their tongues in a present 53 years ago.

at night
when I put her to bed, she tells me she wants to be daddy. she sings a song. she falls asleep
on her own.

at night I drive &the singer on the stereo strumming sadness in drones and Microphone clips until accordian rhythm wrapping chords on the swerving road a clear clear moon a moon moon a floor tomming moon moon mooning clear clearing dancing in and out of the trees dancing:
   dark and light, moon and night, before it sinks behind the warehouse.

in the morning the neighbor kids dress like ninjas and battle in our front yard: the older boy with wooden sword, his sister with y-end stick to catch and push.

in the morning we push toward an end.

in morning trees in harsh sun make roads flicker like 8mm film, 53 years old.

Shakespeare Acrostic

o nce moreun to the breach
,
d ear friends,
o
n ce more;or c lose the wallup with our E
n glishd
e ad.In pea ce there''s no things o becomes a man as modesta ssti
l l ness and tranqui
l ity

Clear moon

at night in the dark a pulse of electric, an envelope, a drum machine. In headphones, a wooden instrument jumps up and down. Let's talk about what it feels like to live.

In other news, there's lube on my chain, I jumped to a line to quickly, and just say something already.