to believe we can
shape the world to fit our needs —
we are (grains of) sa(n)d.
Haiku
Plastic Surge(ry) (Haiku)
in another life
beauty may not be skin deep —
truth barely breaks free.
In Passing (Haiku)
life bridges the gap
between sorrow and a smile —
spring rains fall less stern.
Picture Frames (Haiku)
times long past live on
in the depths of a tea cup;
grandmother’s low voice
(Extingui)Shed (Haiku)
all the warmth seeps out —
thunder on the horizon,
thunder in her voice.
Parallel Universe (Haiku)
he watches himself
in her Audrey-Hepburn-eyes;
dawn breaks ruefully
Sin City (Haiku)
mo(u)rning has broken
yesterday’s endeavor lies
tangled in the sheets
Family Portrait (Haiku)
fallacy is served
with scrambled eggs and bacon;
drowned out by the rain
Life, Prepackaged (Haiku)
the famous hashtag
would be better off as a
dispensable pound.
Chaos, Slightly Used (Haiku)
on the contrary,
some things just fall into place —
buttered side up, too.
Rush Hour (Haiku)
I could shed my skin
in stagnant (excuse me!) rain —
stick figures rush by.
Of Birds And Bees (Haiku)
in the end, even
your voice was a roundhouse kick —
we started out soft.
Ten Little Toes (Haiku)
your spark ensures that
my feet never touch the ground —
nineteen eighty-eight
Way Past Halloween (Senryu)
crusty, is it not?
should have bought better candy —
are you still scrubbing?
(Pr)oxygen Twins (Haiku)
in your mind I breathe
the callous enigma that
gave birth to us both
Another Wandering Soul 