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Sunday Haiku

HAIKU


When dogs piss up trees,
sibilants blow in the breeze.
Sorry 'bout the rhyme.

A tree fell today.
Its roots ripping from the earth.
It made a grand sound.

The texture is grey.
It's oozing between the leaves.
The texture of smoke.

When it burns my eyes,
the texture of fire is red.
Then all turns to ash.

On and on and on.
Oh, when will my pencil break?
I can't see the lines.

Dust in the corner.
Grime under my finger-nails.
I did not do it!

The metronome ticks.
My mind continues to tock.
For how much longer?

Time was when I could.
When I could really see it.
Sometimes I still can.

Full mendacity.
Cover your ass with a pile.
Maybe truth will sprout.

Surrealism.
How can one word say it all?
Sometimes it takes three.

Haiku metaphor,
a koanic disturbance.
Nature does not care.