and they all hide
say the old times
Less of a haiku than an epigram, but it’s what I wanted to say. Morelers are a special bunch. I don’t have the eye for it myself.
say morel
Category: epigrams and conundrums
The idea of a Primal
that we might go back to: frog pond, mating ball of snakes, coyote song, hummingbird battle, voice out of the whirlwind, tectonic rhythms of the planet… everything is primal or nothing is, given the cosmos’s mania for recycling.
Some thoughts toward a rite of spring. Obviously not a haiga, but I had a photo and a mind fart that seemed to go with it, so up it went on Instagram + Facebook. Then I remembered there’s an Epigrams and Conundrums category here.
The sun is different here—
distant, keeps odd hours. A foreigner, regarded with a mixture of bemused tolerance and mistrust.
The tree caught in a tree cannot be untreed except by rot.
This is a proverb from some far-away land where the Peter principle does not apply, and only the least competent are entrusted with the most important jobs.
Say what you will about the lizard brain;
it would be useful to have an unblinking third eye to keep track of the sun.
At the encampment of the damned,
there’s so much less fornication than at the encampment of the saved.
Mountains so long and low
we forget after a while that they aren’t the horizon, that their trees don’t go on forever, that the sky is wider than we can know.
I dreamed the angel of death was a bland functionary
who kept giving me forms to fill out.
In a dream, I extricate myself from your embrace
to rescue children drowning in a river. One of them has already grown fins and a tail.
I dream I’m possessed by a demon who gives me seizures.
No pain, no gain, he makes me hiss through a throat stretched thin as a telephone line.
