Haibun 117

saved by rock and roll

album oriented rock they called it. i drove an ice cream truck in a detroit suburb. i was high on more than life. i had become a horticultural devotee. i wore the sweet smell of success. as the vietnam war was winding down. nothing but the glitter of ice crystals on red white and blue bombpops. another friend slips from view.

the goodyear blimp
the slow tug of loss

Haibun 115


haiku poets are the hired killers of poetry. strolling down main street. encountering life. we take aim are your emotions and leave the ‘thinking’ to anyone else. then up on our high horse and out of town. jus like that.

ruts in the road
i follow a metaphor

Haibun 114

closed eyes

sometimes you just need to sit very still and close your eyes. the parade ends and your smallest thoughts float through your mouth and leave. silently.

afraid to let anyone know
cementing myself
to a breeze