21 March 2009

21mar- bored night of haikus
.
at first i was going to edit these to avoid seeming like i had less than interesting ones, but to hell with that. the whole process is relevant. I wrote haikus tonight. it was slow, then steady, then slowly steady so i wrote haikus most of the night.
and here they are, in chronological order:

apple pumpkin toast
did not exist until now
when i thought of it

simple opera capes
billow flowingly at night
just before they stop

killing time with words
is not that satisfying
but beats--- now i'm stuck

things autonomic
never take up any thoughts
unless they're of them

hot tea won't wake me
unless i spill it on me
but i don't want to

mexican poems?
is there a cultural form
unique to that place?

that woman's stockings
don't really work on her well
but who will tell her?

as my tea grows cold
i grow less interested
in what it offers

more people arrive
but now i just want to write
more pointless haikus

five syllable words
that are used in common speech
are tough to think of

inarticulate
is a five syllable word.
kind of ironic

more is an option
at any given moment
though rarely offered

a tummy rumbling
is an unhappy tummy
and no-one wants that

gumbo would be nice
with mussels still in the shell
ah, well. we can dream

"thank you, mister mike"
that's what i said to michael
when he gave me food

accidental rhymes
please the eyes as well as mind.
there's not one here, though

four tables right now
and it's already seven
yeah. i guess it's slow

kitchen needs white wine.
won't give up my auxerrois.
so long, sweet riesling

it's pleasant outside
i would be grilling right now
if I weren't working

"The Obvious Child"
the song sung by Paul Simon
is stuck in my head

people should decide
before they make a phone call
what they want to say

marshall's burger meal
makes me all kinds of jealous
because i'm hungry

and quick as a wink
we're a table short of full.
why is it like that?

dimple stack aplomb's
a fidgety jell-o mold
of carnality

wrankle flax the first
is an oily, tumbling dime
that's tantalizing

distance tells a tale
of lost but joyous shallots
sinking with the ship

ichabod tanzer
smells his cup of morning mud
wishing for coffee

miller's tales bore me.
tanner's stories can be fun.
fletchers make me yawn

an abbot stumbles
and to his sad-eyed dismay
finds the ground too hard

when copper finds time
and shoulders his candy lime
there's further to climb

the sleep in my eyes
manifests itself in sighs
and is no surprise

trim the excess fat.
now find a good place for that
do it right now. stat!

"the bill," said the wind
"for all the gusts and the gales
will be in the mail."

a standardized gorge
will be filled not once but twice
and all in a thrice

the things i would do
to have not done what i've done
might not be that fun

gentle was the word
that made all the difference.
i should have said it.

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