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Forkless

Where have all our forks
gone disappeared to?

Without them nothing works
how my mouth’s geared to.


So Still

So still was it
that when we did move
the weather changed
for twenty miles around.


Debris Field

    Eighteen miles downwind
        stretches out twisted metal —
                teardrop pointing home.
    
    


Chronic Halitosis

                  
                                    The vulgar word spouts all the decay
                                                   the loving word had.
                                    How sweet! a kiss given on breath
                                                   so wretchedly bad.

 
 


Seed Sewn

                  
                                    ”Quilting may not seem like a mentally
                                    challenging task. But if you’re a novice
                                    and you’re cutting out all these abstract
                                    shapes, it’s a very demanding and complex
                                    task.” —Dr. Denise Park
                  
                  
                  When David bought us one of the best machines built,
                  so worthy of all for which praises were being sung,
                  we thought he wanted us to sew, embroider and quilt,
                  when all along he was just out to keep our minds young.

 
 


Call It What It Is

                   
                  How does one choose to give up so on what one knows?
                  You were once a good judge of character, hard to mislead.
                  But no matter how much you scorn what remains a rose,
                  what you let yourself be taken by will never be but a weed.

 
 


Homesick

                                   
                                   No wonder you’re frantic—
                                   You miss the Atlantic!

 
 


Shy Bladder

                     
                     I write my poetry the same way I always pee.
                                          That doesn’t mean anything about you.
                                                               This is just me.
                     
                     There’re some who’ll tell you that explains
                                          why my writing tastes like it does.
                                                               Instead of because.
                     
                     It doesn’t want to come. Could you please
                                          step out, just until I’m through?
                                                               I can’t do it with you.

 
 


No No No No No No No …


⠀⠀⠀Much like the eskimo
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀with many words for snow,
⠀⠀⠀each woman comes with so
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀many ways to say no.

 
 


Utility Senryū


⠀⠀⠀No good air to breathe,
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀our neighborhood transformer
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀inked our street thick black.