haiku in bad form…

I’ve developed the habit of writing down little poems while I’m watching TV or wandering around outside or sitting at restaurants. They’re my response to the world. There’s a joke that writers tell, “Be careful, or you’ll find yourself in my next book”. Most of the time, my characters are fictional, however, you may find yourself in my poetry if I happen to see you doing something ridiculous in public… That’s me, hiding behind my Moleskine, silently making up my own ending to this minute in your story.

Because I like pain.
It seemed like the best answer…
Or, honest, at least.

Why don’t you give up?
I really want to punch you
when you talk to me.

When you kissed my face
I thought I felt myself die.
Twas a false alarm!

Getting quickly dressed
ducking behind a dumpster?
Not your best moment.

That drink you just spilled
is creeping up on that guy’s
really nice, white shoes.

You called him ugly
but now you are kissing him.
Must have lost a bet.

Yes, you’re a stalker
if you follow him all day
just to see him smile.


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