good-bye in airport.
florida disappears.
oranges to gray again.
counting syllables.
that's not haiku she tells me.
Its all in the twists
street of night air again.
sound floats from distant party.
one beer two beer three...
a hobby of mine you might say.
at least its not art.
phone call from the south.
hello...hello...I miss you.
no twist in this boy.
I'm a funny guy
faking haiku to you dear
think of it as paint
smoke will fall upwards
from my mouth to the ceiling
so goes my time here
desktop of my mac
buried under deep gray snow
deep gray snow I swear
dinner in LA
the world's most perfect bacon
shocked to find it there
now, back to you dear
living in a shack down south.
living oaks suit you