haiku lays down below poem

4 in the afternoon
george is harley in his “just jump already”
burning vagabond eyes;
feral whiskers on lion’s beard,
cig in one hand-rosary in the other-
a revolution on 4 rehabilitate wheels,
but still cia to every inmate weakness.
it smells like rain.

eye surgery
blind to skyscrapers
instant park bench booze heaven
the old riverways

*in related news,
broken bats splinter discusses rivers and montreal’s
canoe commute

hull and bow across water

biblical glamour models are rare
but ferry boats still pull away from shore
in a slow outta body and mind
with a deck of jonahs
seeing rigid rearview skyline
for the first time whole
is a good enough bass line
to play sudden riffs
of real-eyes
the roses are not always red,
a slicing sea jam fusion onward

from timuca to cape canaveral

one giant step onto the anywhere dance floor
not all seizures are bad,
interlocking arms with everyday partners.