Monday, May 12, 2008

Not a Haiku

The leaves rustle softly,
Trees whisper in idiosyncrasy
And the brilliant shadow approaches.
I murmur angrily,
Clasping my good eye
(For the bad one is faulty -
It sees truth now:
Flickering along the edges of reason,
Resonating and dissipating in this hot summer breeze).
Where should I look for desire?
It has abandoned me at last;
At last I'm lifeless,
The least leafless in this long, oh too long autumn
That lasts and lasts,
Skewing like some Marxist's hopes
Around Christmas.
The mating season is over,
I limp away from its remains,
A hollow golden pond
And not a picnic blanket to spare.

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