Spring Haikus

Edinburgh/London

The pound note unrips.
Earth takes a skyscaper back
in Bangkok; death's fast.


The oligarch folds
our government into a
table of contents


Hotel room. London.
I go deaf in my right ear
all of a sudden.


The eye of closure
blinks; something snaps; the borders
of chapters fuzzing


Thames sun reflection
blinding, two silhouettes void
against glare. I'm late.


Can't really see all
of Big Ben cuz the window
is too short. Still late.


He gave her balloons
and lit his cigarette. Thanks,
love. Happy birthday.


Denmark St. stop 4
N19/N38
Forward, left—>hotel


The memories arrive
with urgency. The straight spine
lets them go. Wind. Night.


Window: tulips. Ears:
the electric bus hissing;
Adrianne Lenker.


Slow morning. My hand
leaves behind afterimages.
I'm half-real today.


I scrounge the substance
from underneath my thumbnail
like shrimp shell flesh. Yum.


Lady of Shaloft
saw the world through the glass of
a handheld mirror


All morn spent thinking
of David Foster Wallace
How he killed himself


She appeared in the dream,
standing there, gazing. The stars;
horizon slammed shut.


No Mom I said I
do not want to jump on their
trampoline I'm tired


Rain drums the window.
With the draft from night, a dog's
screams seep in, end. Why?


In the museum
I saw nothing but bought
A map for £2


Took a picture of
Francis Bacon's three studies
on an iPhone 12


The brown world: Bacon's
dog living half in this one,
half in another.


I move through all of
Turner's scenes as if I'm dying.
They flash like memories.


For Turner, Napo-
-leon existed just a 
bit left of center


Turner reduced whole
cities to coughs of color,
like rain on a lens


In the unreal room
The borders of all us collapse.
We become all else.


Captain left faint and
reeling on a dying horse
from Jallalabad


The hanging red lamps
glow. Gold railings. Velvet seats.
This place to hear sound.


In Ronnie Scott's
jazz club a microcosm
of God's heartbeat caged


Turns out the guy who
sounded like Common actu-
-ally was Common


The tension eases
and the dogs put their noses 
to the ground and sniff


I watch the dream slip
past the brink of perception:
Going, going, gone.