not a lycanthrope
but indolent cannibal
the flesh doth await

saliva drenched fangs
crave autumnal equinox
and a harvest moon

Critic of critique?
Bullshit paradox, bs.
Fear hall of mirrors.

respect tradition
syllable counting purist
declares a jihad

perfect hole in bread
the void filled with white and yolk
eggy basket for anyone?

its a cocktail dress
laying crumpled on the floor
no longer a form

glenn miller playing
somewhere shes fixing her hair
im in the mood

apartment hallway
a fading chance for love
think fast

sweat like a bastard
a detective in san juan
moisture on his lapel

stares longingly
"regale me with summers tale"
green eyes welling up

sorrow of the spectre
fought hard against the rector
beaten by inspector

steven falls to the floor
tears shed for all mankind
blood on his shinpads

investing your words
seasonally adjusted
can create interest

Should Haiku mention
a season such as summer
to be a Haiku?

effortless romance
wined, dined, bodies so entwined
now where are my pants

it's hard to resist
the allure of self-pity
but that gets old too

in my senescence
there's physical unpleasance
and obsolescence

with animal style
delectable juices run
fist full of napkins

The instructions say:
'Bad Haiku: (necessary)'
I try to comply

if you could tackle
go for the knees.. i say knees
make it a good one

the words are just words
urchins on a jungle gym
testing their own strength

desire overwhelms
as playful banter excites
wet knife twists within

it's a new day when
the kid smiles, and the old ways
might just get tossed out

remember, bathwater...
not baby, bathwater...just
the bathwater

well, those who forget
to value life, sf, don't
really value themselves

it's kind of pathetic
to be a critical art major
when the only art is artless

there's real folks on the
other end of life unseen
good luck to you all

two separate holes
one identical outcome
more waste for the worms

birth is just one day
then you have them forever
i'm not sure that helps

at 9 months pregnant
all i want to do is chill
and eat jellybeans

plantation of soup
gentle rolling salad hills
duplexing soft serve

hmm, I got loud there
didn't i? well doth
i am a same plotz

i think it just sounds
a lot like those professional
wrestler monologues
sometimes only with
more erudite language
you can be good poets
with insight but one
needs to be cautious of
anyone who calls
anyone else a poseur
because they are often
hypocrites or failed artists

one truth
failed artists make
the loudest critics

i've dealt with the kings
of college, unhappy but
the lie is that I

buy into their self
placed godhood, and ignore my
own ideals and thoughts

distracted by the
urge to kill, correct, humble
all the self same wrong

and i with logs in
my eyes, condemned to lash out
at the useless pride

the elite write shit
that provokes the stand of pride
and makes me wish to

sit on the throne and
cast the assholes down into hell's
eternal humbling

the elite often and
when overthrown heads roll down
replaced, new elite

exclusive clubs are
often challenged by other
schools of thought, excess

the exclusive club
is the abode of purists
and nazis my dear

burrowing inward
i exhume gauze from my skull
and reveal a void

i count upon ash
to reduce poseurs to form
pardon my pretense

ashen residue
'neath absinthe soaked sugarcube
holy shite! my head

so okay maybe
as ifs, oh nos and how sos
so what do you know

Girl, 15
Charming but insane
Unable to stop worrying
Embarasses easily
Trys to escape
Fear, overwhelming
No need to stop
And catch her breath
When is Grips her heart



Lonely Soul

mops of flaxen hair
wonderfully sounding toy
piano lessons

Bill Miller confused
Glib traders rejoiced brightly
Legg Mason whispered

Martingale great
Thick head tells Bill: Double Down
Fannie! Freddie! Die!

all philosophy
pretentiously reflected
is narcissistic

disconcertingly
between the gaps in my life
are large absences

wormwood soaked stumble
a ghost haunts ivory tower
pot calls for kettle

As days grow shorter
I begin my abscission
start with toes this year

piss on the textbooks
wring the ink into a well
and dip your own quill