Haikus: so easy
A toddler can do them! But
Not sexually.

THEY all want to play Hamlet.
They have not exactly seen their fathers killed
Nor their mothers in a frame-up to ****,
Nor an Ophelia dying with a dust gagging the heart,
Not exactly the spinning circles of singing golden spiders,
Not exactly this have they got at nor the meaning of flowers-O flowers, flowers slung by a dancing girl-in the saddest play the inkfish, Shakespeare, ever wrote;
Yet they all want to play Hamlet because it is sad like all actors are sad and to stand by an open grave with a joker's skull in the hand and then to say over slow and say over slow wise, keen, beautiful words masking a heart that's breaking, breaking,
This is something that calls and calls to their blood.
They are acting when they talk about it and they know it is acting to be particular about it and yet: They all want to play Hamlet.

You are in as little a hurry
This morning
As you've ever been.
Re-engage your safety.
Holster your stress.
Your car is a gun.
Your key the trigger.

Two ton hollow-points flying
Down every street in the world; lead
In search of potential tissue.

The father witnessed his own heart
-Shape and weight of a five-year-old-
Break into molecules midplay
On the parking lot
Under a blind reverse.
Perhaps the groceries blocked her view.
Clip emptied in a split second.
Your car is a gun.
Your car is a gun, a child's tunnel vision
As narrow as the barrel of a .22.
Aim carefully, away from people.
Squeeze, don't pull. You hold lives with
Your steering wheel. Destinies under your feet.
Every turn you make has room for tragedy.
Your car is a gun.
A hot, smoking gun.

You are in as little a hurry
This morning
As they are to put something so
Small in the ground
And return with heavy unhealable hearts
To a house
That won't see them smile
For another five.

shivering moss
of deep green
I am a ghost
lost in a waltz

haunted moons
shroud me faint
open graves
my crumbling face

nowhere
moist earth
and ice air
take rusted scissors
to this angels echo

-r0

who cares if the spaghetti sticks to the ***
who cares if a guest shows up late
it's not her 18th birthday
it's my baby brother's
and I'll wear my nose ring if I want to

Like an old piano
Scratches along every keystroke
You played her,
Played her until she broke