(no subject)
I constrained my pen to form. When it couldn't break the Sonnet or Villanelle, my pen exploded. The red ink seeped, stickily, into my fingers and smearing my face I kicked the broken shell until no shard lay below me. Like a mad Rasputin I ran, shivering naked away from the fallen tzar. A policeman approached. Frozen, I breathed in his stone features and cried, "I am a murderer."
Haiku and Haiku-like Sequences:
It's casual,
like the single bullet,
my death.
A bar laid waste
sparkles in her
pretty face.
A cigarette burns quickly
between her pinioned fingers:
She's lost in thought.
I think about my spirit
and my soul, and wonder if
they want to die too.
I guess I've got nothing today as I'm raiding some of my notebooks to fill up space here. Sorry.
Haiku and Haiku-like Sequences:
It's casual,
like the single bullet,
my death.
A bar laid waste
sparkles in her
pretty face.
A cigarette burns quickly
between her pinioned fingers:
She's lost in thought.
I think about my spirit
and my soul, and wonder if
they want to die too.
I guess I've got nothing today as I'm raiding some of my notebooks to fill up space here. Sorry.