lucky flies

sopping, I glisten
sun pooling around my fingers.
the pond is swampy,
filled with birds
and linen-white moths.

I once ran with a friend who couldn’t stand
being circled by flies.
There was nothing we could do
to stop them,
she insisted we swat
and hollered;
This isn’t even enjoyable
any more!

You can outrun them, or
if you sit
still, they’ll leave
They, like us, have only two eyes
though compounded.

That’s how I must look
nestled between skinny trees-
unseemly and



some clouds are crossing my mind
if I am a window
or a perceiver
which I am
some clouds are crossing
me and this window.
I’m not so certain it’s going to be a storm
anymore, he tells us
as a voice through little black holes:
Its going to use the wind off the coast
and pull south, now
if I were I storm
I’d probably head back to the ocean, too.
or, I’d ride with the wind
like the cowboy
in a weather van.

running haiku avalanche!

finally blood moves
to my pinky toes and hands;
whole body heartbeat

bare ground between trees,
shorter grass and white flowers
mark the subtle trail

feet in succession
dare not break the silence of
concentrated breaths
people drive in cars
I’m on my feet wondering
how much they do see
just above my legs
my body rides in calmness
my head reflects sun

feeling like noodles
the cooked ones, warm and loopy
but better than stiff

after braving pain
and sun settled concrete heat
a clean drink will do

dried sweat and clear mind
this bag of dirty laundry
wishes to be washed

Happy Friday!