A romantic name
for a seagull poop splashed walk
among spray and rocks.
Cave of the Winds tour
2
A romantic name
for a seagull poop splashed walk
among spray and rocks.
A romantic name
for a seagull poop splashed walk
among spray and rocks.
Our waitress admits
the town has its share of ghosts.
We sleep with lights on.
No one waters them.
Tiny cells plead, but TV
seems more important.
An adult blankie.
To take one from its owner
will make grown men cry.
not sure what’s so fun
about a day when we’re all
afraid we’ll get punk’d
When I stay up late
my thoughts move oddly like lab
mice stunted by drugs.
Night winds roar like a
giant parent screaming “Go
to sleep!” without words.
Vegans, stay away,
lest your firm resolve melt from
tender smoked brisket.
Hunched and hobbling I
move as if years older, a
taste of what’s to come.
Haiku, like bonsai,
needs care and pruning. A mind
unfocused kills both.