beach haiku

family members

with walking sticks

syncopate

beach mantras

belle rides

backside

arms stretched

her airplane wings

minus tide

plus mom and dad

with 10 sand fleas

marching up my leg

a boat 

floats offshore

captainless, 

perhaps plundered

back to the car,

3 generations,

hear their echo

in the shell.

m&m

gobbling m&m's and 

slurping twisted zin 

couch-side on a friday night.

a four star calamity?

damn.  i hope not.  

but i did experience a 

hypercolor  rush

when i thought 

we might cross paths today

and now i'm trying to 

delete your junk from

my mind map

with cheap american euphemisms 

and self gratification

alas, to no avail.

you paved an interstate 

through my netherlands

no indulgence can erode.

must be time for bed.

yes indeed.

reflections on success

driving, i came to this conclusion:

good writers are honest thinkers.

you've got to ink 

your obsessions, oddities -

underpants.

about the time 

you slipped and shit yourself

on a dusty logging road in 

northern california

or the lover who

ate you out

with chewing gum in his mouth;

and the friend 

who painted your ass yellow 

at a 40th birthday party.

i don't know.

but i used to steal 

panties by the dozen

from jc penny

and i ain't famous yet.

so i'll keep writing to 

see if i get any closer

to the truth.

still waiting at the slide

in kindergarten

i frequented the park

like a well worn 

barstool.

on the slide

was bonnie, 

with storybook curls,

staring at me.

god, i wanted to

hold her hand,

so i asked her

to be my friend.

she said 

no, not now, 

but maybe 

later.

and yesterday

i received an email

from a man

i frequented

saying the same

thing.

i'm still waiting

on both

for a better 

offer.

you

i like you 

best

after i've 

had a drink

or two.

what?

you said.

yes, 

darling

it's true.

and there's only 

one more 

bottle

with 

your name 

on it.

so,

you were 

saying...

never judge a book

book shelf

short and black

twenty books

mostly bukowski

where's keats, 

thoreau, octavio?

your house

earning interest

books like

booze flow

liberally from 

my library

but hank

stays put

i need

my plonk

to be

in stock.

poor man's yoga

face down

stretched lean -

carpet the 

fragrance of

purple,

the orient, 

that house my parents rented,

this languid snake

has no bones

satori.