Haiku 13

What is this concrete, such gravel, steel, that rebar against the dead stars?

Small plane overhead and a worn van’s chittering usher out the sun

Empty ice-cream pint in this, I’ve cultivated exactly one ant.

Atop dinosaurs we prance; who can say what, shall caper over us?

Just gone to purple the upper sky through my blinds pale blue over West.

I begin putting it all together; almost done, at the green light.

Canned soul singer, Dixieland street trumpet, join downtown midair

Terry Hall’s windows how much they’ve seen; do they catch that tear of the wrecker?

Decades of students… now nothing sits inside save the grinding machines

Daylight Savings, spring I’m late to the library on time for the sun.

On a bench with this guitar; awaiting rebuke… only the softball field

“Softball’s silly”–and he stole my lover, so he must know everything.

Two-hour wait for the top of the queue, wrestling Quetzalcoatl

The truck, downshifting thick chuffle of the air brakes a pause in the wind

Five ones, he wants and will he haunt downstairs ever after, for them?

The sun dries out my drowned world, warms my toes; I’ll leave dishes, to insects.

My brother’s birthday a Portuguese singer soothes pricked anxiety

The cherry blossoms! I pity He who grows bored of them–wait, is that…?