another outrage
and the signs of the times bear
witness to humans

and another day
turns into another day
like those before it

The hotel had a
Tacky 60's Las Vegas
Sun dried charm to it

sun oil and towel
swipe the badge to your fave beach
summer as usual

I like it darth, I
like it I love it...

fuck it it's summer
and the outhouses are out
shit in summer fun

mind irresolute
body irredeemable
soul behind velvet

Disgusting toilet.
Overflowing filth bucket.
Mosquito heaven.

I understand how
you feel, I'd like some firm earth
to stand on as well

well it's summer and
stormy sometimes, and then it's
quite sunny so shrug!

what ya on about ?
you're changing like the weather
and i need firm ground

yummy, water up
your ass and a dead chicken
in a shell, good stuff

Dog stew with carrots!
I'm now in the Philippines.
And there's no TP.

TP is water.
Splashed up under your asshole.
Poured down your back side.

Balot egg for lunch.
A hard-boiled abortion.
Google balot egg.

people who write are
driven by ego, talent
all too human, and

only the words speak when
we are passed away, echoes
of who we once were

history shows the
ruins of man's past living
foundations outside

re runs of rock vids
queen ties the screen brian may's
guitar was home made

old painting from the
90s, 8 bucks at goodwill
who is the artist?

years of hoarding builds
obsolete items and trash
yard sales soon follow

the pocket call with
garbled voices over cell
crackle frack flick flum

a silent website
not quite 404 the world
overconnected

at the drive thru a
bit of sarcasm gets a
cold look from a flip

as we become old
more reactionary is
what we lose bad, good?

well at least that got
five or six haikus out of
you, desert wine?

disregard the guard
batter all bastions blindly
exalt in tumult

repetition mine
like the rhythm of your time
mine a gentler clime

hierarchy of needs
number one is fun, my son
a sine qua non

my primary aim
alleviate this ass itch
noble pursuits lost

my Important work!
I cleanse the system for us
who are we, shit soak?

all hackers assholes
under cloak of purity
leave my asshole reamed

fuck you adobe
and your fucking flash updates
i'll read cave paintings

were not a lot of
these haiku death poems as
samurai's last words?

and my dear sir, what
if it was good writing you
are calling not good

people can't conform
to my wishes or yours so
so...come as you are

writing classes are
full of egos, petty, vain
visonary, but they're

fucking classes, with
human beings like lush here
drinking himself down?

so compliment, you
are fucked, compete for scraps of
what, recognition?

haiku are the capacitors, enabling complex thought and efficient transmission with limited waste and sustained conversion. epics and manifestos, by contrast, require a cooling mechanism or elaborate calculations for effective thrust upon the end system. This horrible metaphor will serve as my final complaint regarding non-haiku. These should be haiku first, and bad second. Otherwise, we're merely dealing in bad writing, such as this.

I wrote a poem
hipsters crafted apps and frowned
each are ass loathsome

actions however
bear rigid consequences
like a steam engine

thoughts twice converted
rendered in stains on parchment
glorified and tame

there are more ways to
live than any of us here
can fathom in our

short lifetimes, but a
breath in the eyes of God and
a blip on time/space

when a person has
nothing more to declare war
on if this is their

life to live, does it
end like abbie hoffmann, turned
inward and explodes?

or do they find a
new reason to live and try
something different

but here's the issue
when a person faces a
person that is the

very thing they hate
a "poet" yet decries it
words of war on self?

laughs, so we're all the
poets, singers, sinners, to
the end we all kill

ourselves slowly by
being born, some die sooner
some die later but

oh we live that life
whilst we are alive, what world
is this, you and i

Another quitter
bites the proverbial dust.
As all poets should.

All poets should die!...
Dye their hair bright orange and green.
Run up to strangers.

Assail them with
unwanted poems and filth.
And slowly kill them....

selves

frowns, paradox, when
I want to express myself
people walk away

when I don't want to
people want me to do so
so therefore I quit

if arnold and snooki
can write a book about
their lives of course (ow)

(i like arnold, snooki, eh)
then what course has the world
of the written word gone

I see magazines
getting thinner and thinner
market values vs.

nostalgia for things
the niche market once mainstream
don't that beat all huh

see on sea shores
many peoples sittings sun light

a hot bath

my life vacillates
though my problems are quite clear
and i'm one of them

bothersome optics
reflections perverse, inverse
damn you, retinae

as for pleasure's sake
I'd sooner run a finger
then eyeball a screen

indexible tomes
thousands per hand held device
a purpose served... sure.

caress the cover
moisten finger, turn a page
storage underground