Haiku 27

One lost DVD stains all my gratitude at the sun’s return.

“High above it all” depends very much, of course, upon your staircase.

I’ve never pondered all those other mini-mart hands depleting Pop-Tarts.

Waving flies aside across Green Lake Way from Spud, blighted wood bleachers.

Campus Parkway, the grey crane casts no shadow swinging, silent, south.

Heart-shaped slice of pear on the bus stop’s yellow line; no sign of the knife.

Whoever’s not home presumably wants to buy his tiny pot bags.

Standing, her shut eyes twinned black lines in soft pencil all the way downtown

If billions manage their own deaths, then who am I to gum up the works?

The Ting Tings’ new one & lying atop blankets– serenity, Ah!

He was old, crippled, but a car cut his life short anyway. (Lesson…?)

“Rectal bleeding”–well, I had to fill out their form in some fashion, eh?

Parka’d little girl small Japanese umbrella on her left shoulder.

Tedium, fatigue, gifts from fate I must treasure until my last day.

Gauzy white, cold blue, the moon sets over Green Lake six-twenty am.