Morning ritual

Light breaks. I heed the
call to darkness, cup rich black
magic in my hands.

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Booths shelter those hung
over, elbows tacky with
pancake syrup spills.

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Dishes in the sink

Domestic mountains
rimmed with grime, sponge scaling this
Everest of suds.

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Over the holidays

Ate bad stuff. Gained weight.
Hate myself. Still, I think, There’s
always tomorrow…

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Poor business decision

I quit my job to
work on my haiku blog. Chance
of millions, slim / none.

Haiku of the day

Wisdom’s spark. Fortune
cookie poetry message
ignites hope change growth.

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Laid off friend

Drops by at four, raids
the fridge, toasts unhappy hour
to his firing squad.

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Dull lives filtered take
on romance, mystery, masked by
Low-fi Sutro Rise.


You still up? Dude, it’s
not like the internet won’t
be there tomorrow.