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Haiku

(Never Published)

Drinking my tea
Without sugar—
No difference.
 
The sparrow shits
upside down
—ah! my brain & eggs
 
Mayan head in a
Pacific driftwood bole
—Someday I’ll live in N.Y.
 
Looking over my shoulder
my behind was covered
with cherry blossoms.
 
Winter Haiku
I didn’t know the names
of the flowers—now
my garden is gone.
 
I slapped the mosquito
and missed.
What made me do that?
 
Reading haiku
I am unhappy,
longing for the Nameless.
 
A frog floating
in the drugstore jar:
summer rain on grey pavements.
(after Shiki)
 
On the porch
in my shorts;
auto lights in the rain.
 
Another year
has past—the world
is no different.
 
The first thing I looked for
in my old garden was
The Cherry Tree.
 
My old desk:
the first thing I looked for
in my house.
 
My early journal:
the first thing I found
in my old desk.
 
My mother’s ghost:
the first thing I found
in the living room.
 
I quit shaving
but the eyes that glanced at me
remained in the mirror.
 
The madman
emerges from the movies:
the street at lunchtime.
 
Cities of boys
are in their graves,
and in this town...
 
Lying on my side
in the void:
the breath in my nose.
 
On the fifteenth floor
the dog chews a bone—
Screech of taxicabs.
 
A hardon in New York,
a boy
in San Fransisco.
 
The moon over the roof,
worms in the garden.
I rent this house.

[Haiku composed in the backyard cottage at 1624
Milvia Street, Berkeley 1955, while reading R.H.
Blyth's 4 volumes, "Haiku."]

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