What Shall I Say Then?
                     I know I am-
                 Addicted to a haiku
(About you). I love to
   Talk about your cu
     mulonimbus cloud
      coverage. Wispy bo
        ats on the sailing se
           a of sky. Forest lea
             f hiding spot betw
              een to cracked up
                branches. Twig s
                   nap laugh and
                     summer chuckle
                      rhyming with the
                         honeysuckle. Tw
                           o thoughts deep
                             a shovel-full of
                               fresh black dirt
                                so flavorful. R
                                 oots and berries
                                  Sweet and sick
                                    Sapling thick m
                                      ilk thistle stick
                                       among your lo
                                        ng thin fingers  
                                        Molded rocks
                                        the dew and moss
                                       growing on the bed
                                       sheets. All leaf and
                                      green; the sylvan scene
                                      pine scented thunder
                                     wonders. Rain fall tap
                                    Oil and sap; butterflies
                                   seek some shelter
                                  from hail and shame
                                red cheeked rain
                               pit patter on
                             in the river

Avoid the game
of (r)eading
betw(e)en the lines
(a)nd actually
read
my
(l)ines

there. was. a. time.
coun' ting' '  stars' ' '
poems\rhymes
the Sssssmell of
eu^ca^lyp^tus trees//
the ~sounds ~ of ~
tangerine
[&aquamarine;]
your liPpPs;
my _ dream _ s

》》now i
hold. all. this. (                    )silence;
{however || tenderly}
along-with-my-whiskey
& the
€ternit¥
BeTw | EE | n
ea" ' ch. " " tick." ' '
' of
' the
.. ' .. ' .. clock

I shared a beer and sympathy with a gnarled, obsolete man
Whose wizened visage spoke of unwise choices.
He spoke wistfully (though apropos of nothing) of an abandoned diner
Near the terminus of a truncated and decommissioned road,
Its parking lot an unhappy armistice
Of cracked tarmac and scrub grasses,
The building still sporting caricatures of the proprietors
(The artist a devotee of the Bob’s Big Boy school)
Though time had robbed them of the odd eyeball,
And a shoulder or elbow had faded surreptitiously into the background.
Much of a large sign remained as well,
Appearing to be nothing less
Than some leviathan’s abandoned crossword puzzle,
Fairly shouting “THE B ST  DA N STE K
BETW  N SYR C SE  AND OT T WAOR Y UR MON Y B CK!”  
Nothing else remained, my companion intimated,
Save the odd abandoned farmhouse and vestigial fields,
With long unmended barbed-wire fences doing their level best
To contain the ghosts of bygone and unlamented cows.

cracks me up
this erroneous error message,
looks at me and states authoritatively
nuh-uh, buddy, “it ain’t you you babe,
it ain’t you we looking for babe”

makes me crazy crying
copiously betw snorting fits of
eloquent derision

why oh why

is it daily savings time prematurely
(immaturely) aging me,
be it advancing decrepitude
or just the AI’s sullen attitude?

be it a secret messaging that my
mother’s slow descent into
senility, loss of speech is now me-
visible to the all seeing eyes on
a dollar bill, & or the iPhone genie?

this erroneous messaging appears
with an irregularity regular, just
enough to make me think that

this
       is
           not
                  accidental

come to nyC,
come me to see,
need an independent  
judgement  summary
please
before the winter pale overcomes my
poetic resistance and they park me
in the backyard, where I can sit yet,
studying for multiple hours
the river-fed bay on its way
to the vastness of the Atlantic
Ocean, where the water will combine.
all cells of each of our selected
those chosen body’s of water,
bodies now interring,
while populating
intermingling
taking stingling diatoms from
of each, they will kiss, greet, each other,
with the clarity of recognition that our
poetry has already bonded us in ways that are irrefutable, been coming long time
geological formations new and old,
still forces unstoppable foreseeing
every, every ever

Make
room
for the
end
or it will
F O R C E
its way
BETW    EEN
your
plans and bring
those
to
an early
end too