ohp, uhp, oop… okay.

to write abstractly
it helps to be stoned; so much
so it feels a crutch.

hip haikus, stanza
formatted. notice: no caps!
it must be for real

this feeling of peace
when I stare through the window
at our wild yard.

no lawnmower knows
this field’s overgrown nature.
it is real untamed.

a grasp on the pipe:
burned up brain pens bad poem,
he stumbles near the end.

May 14, 2012

An idea had struck
him, hard and clear, while writing
poetry on her.

To dwell on those days,
to pick out the memory,
–sometimes even more!–

slows down the healing.
Loss of love must happen now.
The pain may kill him.

That’s when it began:
the stripping of affection.
(She did so months back.)

Why put the task off?
Time will eventually
do it anyway.