A single crow

A single crow

in the road,

but who’s counting?

 

Your soft flesh

Your soft flesh,

your moist lips

tremble at the touch

of my fingertips. . .

On the street corner

On the street corner,

he stands preaching –

nobody listens.

We are the stories

We are the stories

we tell

ourselves.

 

(Haiku Heights # 246 – Story)

Unobserved

Some days I feel

like Schrodinger’s Cat,

neither here nor there…

On Writing

Two rejections

in as many days.

Still, I write

my tiny songs

and send them

on their way.

Among the Departed

For a long time

Death refused to look at me.

 Though, Goddess knows, I flirted

mercilessly.

 Or, perhaps,

the big D

simply couldn’t see

 just to what I was up.

 In those days, of course,

I wore the magic hat

of youth

 and drank from a golden cup.

 I had yet to learn the lesson

that immortality is relative.

 Now the clock is ticking faster

and I’ve forgotten

just what I was after

 when this whole thing started.

 And that, I’m sure,

is exactly

as it ought to be.

 For once I’m gone

and among the departed

 it will all come back to me.

 

 

- R. Cody -

Warm evening

Warm evening,

windows open,

mariachi breeze…

Two statements and a rebuttal

Music is math.

God is wrath.

 

Depending upon who is listening

and who is asked.

Beside the freeway

Beside the freeway,

two bottles of urine,

toppled.

Going home to see my baby

Going home to see my baby
at the end of a long, hard day.

Going home to see my baby,
green lights all the way.

4:30 am

4:30 am,

dim light at the windows,

we wake up to pee.

Wind chimes, like us,

tinkle in the dark.

Memory is

Memory is

a tricky thing.

I remember yin,

you recall yang.

Humanoid

Humanoid

in appearance,

I walk among you.

The sky hangs low

The sky hangs low

over the city tonight,

reflecting yellow

sodium light.

Kissing in sunlight

Kissing in sunlight,
around us
a golden nimbus.

Afternoon sun

Afternoon sun,

the asters glow

violent purple.

Voices from the street

Voices from the street,

the trolley bell rings, curled up

we drift into sleep.

After midnight

After midnight –

rain spatters
the dark skylight.

What is this sadness

What is this sadness

which paints

the bluest sky gray?