Imagination
Is all that is required
To write a haiku.

I read last Saturday in the
redwoods outside of Santa Cruz
and I was about 3/4's finished
when I heard a long high scream
and a quite attractive
young girl came running toward me
long gown & divine eyes of fire
and she leaped up on the stage
and screamed: "I WANT YOU!
I WANT YOU! TAKE ME! TAKE
ME!"
I told her, "look, get the hell
away from me."
but she kept tearing at my
clothing and throwing herself
at me.
"where were you," I
asked her, "when I was living
on one candy bar a day and
sending short stories to the
Atlantic Monthly?"
she grabbed my ***** and almost
twisted them off. her kisses
tasted like shitsoup.
2 women jumped up on the stage
and
carried her off into the
woods.
I could still hear her screams
as I began the next poem.
mabye, I thought, I should have
taken her on stage in front
of all those eyes.
but one can never be sure
whether it's good poetry or
bad acid.

I want you to see all the stories I’ve written for you

But I’m scared the characters will chip and fall apart
Serifs sharp like broken glass
Are you still breathing
while you drown in me?
There is a curve
In soft vowels that create you
and any letter that drops below the baseline, like a sinking rock in the murky shores
My words more often than not drift like wood at sea
Part of something once
But no longer whole
And crushed constantly by blue waves of doubt
That pushes and pulls me
Into every direction
Every lighthouse I've ever seen
has never shined bright enough
to guide me home

i have racked my mind
trying to figure this whole thing out
the staying, the going
the threads we claim hold us here
& the people who've stopped to play a tune on them
i sometimes relate it
to waking up in waist deep snow
in our former selves
the us we wish we could give one another
the children we've sat on the shelves
trapped, like the looks
we leave behind in snow globes
i sometimes imagine ships
dragging the bottom to the sea of "me"
for sleep & pieces of my old self
to sell to the new one
like history doesn't repeat itself
it gets me wondering
if you too want an apology from the rain
or if you dream of burning family photo albums
and wearing the ashes like perfume
if you're anything like me
how i hope god chokes
on memories of me blowing out candles as a child
i know i shouldn't reference my reader  
but don't you know, the only difference
between alone & lonely is you?
that if my hands could talk
the only thing they'd be able to say
is "dear god we've missed you"
and how can you tell me it isn't love
when even the rain refuses to fall
in places where i've kissed you
i remember the day
you found my smile at a yard sale
it reminds me of how you'll leave
i wonder if when you go
you'll tell yourself
the person in the rear view mirror
is closer than they appear

I started smoking cigarettes again

Something about having another thing burning between my fingers

Besides your hands

Makes me dismiss the feeling that lingers 
when I think of you

Since I can’t have your taste in my mouth

Menthol will have to do

I am addicted 

Isn't this sounding familar?
You **** me inside starting with my lungs

Like the small nicotine sticks do with every inhale

I would much rather your slender fingers in my hand

But for $10 a pack they last around a lot longer than you do 

No matter how much you rot me from the inside out

A piece of me will always be yours

Always