24 October 2021
Heard immunity
Apapane, wet droplets
Anti-vaxxer speaks
“Just get your shot,” I
Said, walking in parking lot
The big-eyed man laughs
Light is not the word
For this light, its morning
(Odd, gentle) cleaver
Invasive plant pet-
als, purple, fall on native
Hapu`u, photo
Clear the mind of all
But haikued pauses to look
Lilith sniffs and sniffs
Haiku: short long short
Look, retain, and write it down
Later, altered light
Write across quiet
Trespass in abandoned house:
Mouse trap, Bible, trash
Outcome lacks story
Story lacks characters, up-
side down couches stare
The absurd sadness
Abandonment yawns
Broken walls, toilet
Clever light, masked green
Striated shadow mirrors
I see it in me
Trade light for printed
Text, do not include words with
Your photo poems
Lilith ran away
Pheasant hunting, I stood, screamed
Her name, she came back
But that’s not story
Which is all inside the out-
side we call meaning
Like a dog hunting
Off Haunani and Maile
Roads: straight’s not the gate
Assign me gender
Slashes between my pronouns
I’ve not been anti-
The prozac seat-belt
Keeps me from suicide bomb
Younger self threatened
Was Dickinson’s shelf
Her self, teetering on edge
Where the meaning breaks
Break-down an old term
For bending like an old bow
Wood and thread consigned
To space, so loosely
Named, like they or them or I
Pronounce you, yourself
Blue sky, o`hi`a
Zigsaw, apapane bird,
No coqui this week.
No comments:
Post a Comment