short, meaningful read in pseudo-haiku prototypes

Wayne and I have released another book, this time a haiku collection. It turned out quite alright and, as title says, is a short, meaningful read in pseudo-haiku prototypes. What it means is that we didn’t kept to any ruling besides the metric norms for the haiku, so you’ll be finding a bunch of surprises if you’re expecting a Basho. The full text will be here in this post, but I highly recommend you download the .pdf version and read from there. Also, you can read the first book here.
   Enjoy! 

***

[Time]

four in the morning
life as a pretty flower
put in my pocket 

in all flowerbeds
gnawed leaves live as veterans
sordid invalids 

smiling diana
knowing death is approaching
like Luna that night 

dead euthanasia
for all the sins committed
he's been resurrected 

we have bananas,
beautiful women, coffee,
racism and music 

inexorable
relentless wave destroys all
metaphysical 

death in broad daylight
— the obscene mortality —
of a bright young man

Shipped with Snow Leopard.
Despite warnings, still current
Man, I still miss Steve.
|
|
Too early a death.
He took risks. They sure don’t now.
Mac's no longer fun.  

Predates the iPad,
Can be fixed, still works today.
Trusty white MacBook 

A throwback today.
A gas station burrito.
It’s been a long time.
|
|
Far off location.
Exact replica building.
This one’s still open.
|
|
Nothing special there.
I visit. Memories flow.
Living time capsule. 

Near 2000 birth.
No social media, zen.
Modern freak show, right? 

It’s been years since then.
People change, they won’t. Oh, well.
I don’t plan for kids. 

Whoa, I can have kids?!
Full on mini mes on earth.
How terrifying... 

Super bowl party,
My dad’s birthday. Why I'm Here?
Don't know why I should. 

sunday to sunday
overworked, tired to the core
20-looking 50 year old rag 

silk skin, smooth sailing
an expensive new sofa
trivial splendor 

took me for granted
asshole thought he could use me
guess who's rich now, “dad”? 

and when I came back
he was there, licking the mug
can't have shit 'round here 

no showing your tits
to them punks with no future
understand? capeesh? 

Miss Orndoff was cool
but hated the living shit
out of M. Warnock 

typewriter, old-man
wrists are still intact somehow
flaming carpal strength

small pains collected
over the years, to this point
constant reminders

radiant-looking
jumping in front of the train
another failure

so many mistakes
in this shitty manuscript
you are not Balzac

lights strobing around
small dots in forever black
hallucinations

***

[Nostalgia]

leathery finish
blue book, read so many times
now lost forever 

glitter-like feeling
as the sun shines bright through holes
in the old curtains
|
|
emptiness inside
as the sun shines bright through holes
in the old curtains 

jupiterian
guides the whole crew to the chasm
offering to self 

every book on tile
tells a different story
[an] anthology 

an award fails to
do it's job, if your merit
is now someone else's 

fierce rain in the park
but no reason to depart
just to be alone 

Flashback 10 years ago.
Analog was viable.
Update? What is that?
|
|
Flashback 20 years ago.
Dial up, tube TVs, stuff just works.
That stuff STILL just works. 

Two kids exploring.
City life. Super scary.
Screwed without our phones.
|
|
We choose a detour.
Wrong turn costs twenty minutes.
Just want to go home.
|
|
GPS saves us.
How can we go without it?
It’s impossible. 

I was a kid once.
Friends were nerds. Cool but awkward.
Don’t know where they went. 

That one Pink Floyd song
Is great! One major problem:
Wish I understood. 

LaserDisc is fun.
A movie on a Vinyl.
Or is it CD?
|
|
Really neither.
But both too? Lasers read it.
Then output A/V.
|
|
Don’t forget the sleeves.
They’re HUGE. Effort is required.
Much cooler than tapes.  

help the old lady
receive a shiny penny
for my altruism
|
|
throw it up and down
fell into the foul gutter
no candy for me 

absent-minded girl
insane puss, freak-on-a-leash
rocking the shitshow 

modern mastermind
fierce anarcho-monarchist
graffiting big dongs 

urban-life pyrates
cheerfully mocking others
along with the sea 

trick or treat, lady?
oh, sweetie, here you have it
poor people candy 

a stray coffee shop
in the middle of nowhere
extant vibration 

self-hatred, self-harm,
self-awareness; disregard
for all but myself 

sorry I forgot
it's been so long, I'm feeble
tied to cinder blocks 

nous nous souvenons
les plaisirs éphémères
assis au café 

loud, Paul Hardcastle's 19
middle-aged couples dance
dad does the robot

***

[Routine]

owls hiding in holes
no worm in sight all weekend
like real people

cute doggo-doggies
covered in scabs, dirty dogs
unending delight 

black, white and orange
a frisky feline huntress
another dead bird 

cat food and cat poo
and cat fur and cat hairballs
small cat annoyances 

snob pieces of shit
playing lunar songs, drinking
off-key piano 

ol’ grayish black jeans
30 year old Sonic Youth black shirt
not saying, spraying 

wallow in despair
subservient to my sins
living in sorrow 

Glitches, bad updates,
Another reminder call.
Please, just let me work. 

Time didn’t resolve.
Full time job, yet still social?
Maybe after death. 

Six Megs, my struggle.
Update? Completes tomorrow.
Reddit bad. Book good. 

Gaming offline? How?
Crappy graphics, wired game pad,
But... zero load times. 

Eighty-five years old.
Mom still around. Happy. Kind.
An Inspiration.
|
|
Excited for me,
Almost like I’m her grandkid.
I just fix her stuff.
|
|
Old people... The best.
No reason to care, no time.
We should learn from them. 

framed lock of blond hair
staring at me everyday
object-epitaph
|
|
orange strand of hair
taped to the book's back-cover
drawn heart beside it
|
|
little black hairs on
yellowed, off-white sheets. take me
me back to heaven 

in the back-burner
my thoughts come and go as trains
flying with no rails 

in search of better
all by myself, need someone
inside this crisis 

her creeping silence
something sinister to it
too dark a daybreak 

I've been so morbid
this past few days, clear down bad
sad future in mist 

two beers for breakfast
smooth wine pour l'aprés-midi
sorbet au diner

when looking at me,
straddled by a skeleton,
only a victim
|
|
for everyone else
despite all of my efforts
won't be good enough 

death-defying gaze
harmless traffic lights outside
I need scorch tonight 

woke up at midnight
compulsive craving for pain
shatter the lampshade
|
|
soon to be over
bleeding on the soft carpet
sun shining outside 

dark as night, concealed
as woken up from the dream
living night-terror

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