I feel them howling.
too. We're far from home and need 
the moon to lead us.

I left a hard boiled 
egg out for the flies, because
they were hungry, too.

I feel like quoting 
Destiny's Child, 'cause yo, I 
am a SURVIVOR!!

Finger crossing and
clover leaves. Stars for wishing 
and Buddha rubbed.

Dreams do shatter, but
into a bunch of pieces that
become other dreams.

The highway lights, all 
fake yellowish-orange, are the 
smells of my childhood.

I've felt particularly
quiet for all the talking 
I need to hear.

I parked in the
shade of the sign, because it
was a hot, hot day.

The sound of the freight
train reminded me I'd been
riding the subway.

I think that I love
it. Especially when I
say that I hate it.

It's the sun. It's 
always that rad, awesome,
crazy lady the sunshine.

I came back and it
was all exactly the same
and a bit different

Tonight I'll be restless.
I'll dream, but wake from the 
dream and hope to sleep.

Reality is 
the old men don't play the chess.
They just talk some shit.

Tonight I heard the
cicada singing with her 
electricity voice.

What if somewhere else

to someone else YOU are the 

ghost haunting their room?

I'm not going to 
Hell. I could live there now. And 
Heaven's all around me.

Howl at the sky. Howl 
at the moon. Let your heart howl
at the everything.

I avoid a lot 
of eyes, but when I see them
I'm hooked like a fish. 

The touch of your skin.
The feel of your hair. The sense
of your hand near mine.

The clouds looked perfect.
Like they hadn't moved for
years or centuries.

Where the old wave meets
the new wave and the sand slips 
out from under me.

There was a building
and another building and 
somewhere there was sky.

The dragonfly buzzed
by her head. Lingered. Two 
creatures living new lives.

Tears fall at the drop 
of a hat, the turning of 
a new leaf, your eyes.

It's all or nothing.
Crazy, sane. I wouldn't want it 
any other way.

Excited/Morose.
Scared/Sure. Nostalgic/Hopeful.
Laughing/Crying. Sighs.

Against the backdrop 
of the city she was like a 
breath of fresh air.

I held the feather
and watched the breeze touch it, 
thinking, "Where's this bird now?"

"Gotta make a move 
to a town that's right for me.
Town to keep me movin'."
                                 -Lipps, Inc.

We're born in the wild,
wild at heart, we are the wild 
child sowing wild oats. 

The pigeon's fine, 
but I miss the crow. I just
can't relate to pigeons.

The air outside is 

thin and still. It looks just as 

lonely as I feel.

I wrote a poem 
with the only time I have
while the children sleep.

The tops of the trees.
The roofs of the homes. The window
I look out of.

Today's haiku's brought 
to you by the letter R 
and the number 4.

The night is long, but 
not long enough for I hate 
to wake from my dreams.

Their light is soft and
floats up as if they were sparks 
escaping the fire.

This haiku's about
the sky, because the sky's so
mysterious to me.

Each place you've been
you've left a little of you,
taken a bit of them.