except it isn't

haiku for an empty spoon

lying here alone:
my body, punctuation
marking an absence.

and that's all I have to say today

Bloc Party, 'This Modern Love' - A Take Away Show from La Blogotheque on Vimeo.

haiku for happiness

wake in a dark room,
a ticket home to see you
a torch in my mind

this is the devil's circus

I'm in London; I'm back at my old job for a bit; I'm spending a lot of time looking for diversions on the internet. Poetry sites provide a diversion, and so I pass it on to you, gentle readers...

splash

the illusion is that you are simply
reading this poem.
the reality is that this is
more than a
poem.
this is a beggar's knife.
this is a tulip.
this is a soldier marching
through Madrid.
this is you on your
death bed.
this is Li Po laughing
underground.
this is not a god-damned
poem.
this is a horse asleep.
a butterfly in
your brain.
this is the devil's
circus.
you are not reading this
on a page.
the page is reading
you.
feel it?
it's like a cobra. it's a hungry eagle circling the room.

this is not a poem. poems are dull,
they make you sleep.

these words force you
to a new
madness.

you have been blessed, you have been pushed into a
blinding area of
light.

the elephant dreams
with you
now.
the curve of space
bends and
laughs.

you can die now.
you can die now as
people were meant to
die:
great,
victorious,
hearing the music,
being the music,
roaring,
roaring,
roaring.

Charles Bukowski

haiku for a snowy London day

my black bicycle
stark and sleek against white snow
see, see how I go