Drunken Haiku Past

Torn hollow my body a battleground

Redbird wings brush my lips on the pages of a pulp magazine

Peace unsung only wind rain dry sun at the barbecue and the kids hide subdued in blue jeans like Picasso in Paris growing vanity in a window box with Hitler and the other chemists

Grey heart almost silent beats beneath the milk and her body is a silver lake and her movement a rippling spoon

Mud grass day fades and swept away

Yet no one knows and nothing gained through all those days of secret code

Disturbance upon the radio

I wait to move almost still

The breath of faint lungs

Almost silent and I can never rest

Walk along the corridor with me

Wind green dry sunlight and I fight until the end

Never give up

Never give up

Never give up until the crush and everything overrun

Wind green sunlight of Paris on the landing waiting for the shadows to dress me in black like a dead rainbow draping my shoulders

(Dedicated to AMole, the Convert, and a few others of that virtual ink.)

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2 thoughts on “Drunken Haiku Past

  1. How much does the world weigh as it sits upon my shoulders? Too much at times. Shifted, it’s bearable, but only just.

    I suspect the full meaning of deep poetry is always just beyond one’s fingertips — like stepping to catch your shadow. One can regard it and glean understanding. Yet, one can continue to reach further into its depths, its nirvana always inching away.

    Liked by 2 people

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