Driving the East Side
A new landscape emerging
Around all new turns.

Beautiful IXCHEL
Sits fully identified
Atop my body

Politely she asked
If the tattoo in fact hurt
Needles jabbing skin.

Seven years is long
The love being gigantic
His body close by.

This week is over
Not wanting to relive it
It sits in ash heaps.

I could not make it
It was not so much sickness
Just the thought of you.

8/20

I am exhausted
I have done nothing but rest
Still my body aches

8/19

Like a good cripple
I arrived here full of hope
By the end, stabby.

I'm here

Between two islands
The century old bridges
Suspending skyward

Having been gone long
Lore seemed disappointed
Seeing a clean fridge.

Groveling on floors
Checking electrical plugs
No caffeine in sight.

A happy birthday
Nice wooden earring sanded
By crazy psychos.

I used the walker
Quite the hit at the gardens
My small arms now sore.

Prospect park picnics
Corn salad and smoked salmon
Mango ice and fruit.

I get frustrated
My anger explodes, burning
Sometimes scaring me.

WEEKENDER

8/11

My calves hurt today
As if my bones were splitting
Breaking out of skin.

Two man skull rowing
Lightweight ships gliding water
Ergometer scores.

He re-aligned me
Everything became centered
My heart finding home.

Matt and Chloe wed
She wore a white satin dress
Eyes looking forward.

8/7

Art is everything
Bursting paint on gray rooftops
Engraved eternal.

8/6

I enjoy TV
The most stupid the better
Like, reality.

8/5/

When the haze settles
Blue skies erupting above
Mad love to cities.

8/4

How the world stood still
The minute hand moving slow
The lilies sighing

Asheville.

(I skipped a few days, I know... here are Asheville Haiku's)

Not a haiku
Top 10

Blue mountain rock, big trees
Rivers to the waterfall swimming hole
Art, randomly
Old friends
Old friends who are chefs who cook you home made meals
Family
Huge raindrop rainfalls
Backyard tomatoes
Easy time
Hummingbirds

HAIKU'S

Fifteen hour rides
Choo choo chooing through six states
Sun sets over fields.

Strangers giving rides
Misty morning clouds hanging
Driving along sleep.

The art of cooking
Will be part of this week
Josh baking pita.

On a pebble path
A river runs through brown earth
Whispering ancient.

I float in the pool
My feet digging into rocks
My pores exploding.

Along the parkway
Blue ridges blending with sky
Broad stretches of stone.

The baby fusses
Her father speaking softly
In sing song like words.

Thinking tiny towns
While passing them on a train
Wandering absence