After Heraclitus, Continued

 

As a bow is alive only 

When it kills, so is the poet 

 

When he writes. 

 

 

 

Absurd Dystopian Life Sentence

 

Where oddly enough even 

The odd numbers never add up. 

 

 

 

Notorious Sleight Of Hand

Devious one, 

Mind you and see 

You don’t 

 

Leave it at that, 

The wind’s 

An old hand 

 

At changing 

Its mind, 

Just like that. 

 

 

 

Haiku: Fledgelings

Not a word misplaced 

On that once blank silent page

 

Murmuring sound sets.

 

 

 

Metaphorical Landings

urchin’s 

small 

 

sky-

blue 

 

ball 

bouncing 

down

one more flight 

of dark

 

derelict

tenement

 

stairs in

to one vacant

sunlit lot too

 

much like the others.