1 of 3. I shot a gun.

This is me with a
a revolver in my hand. It's
not pointed at you.

Or pointed at me.
Yes it's loaded, but really,
take the bullets out.

There's a piano
it was never mine, only,
it always owned me.

The high school traffic
consumes the once silent road.
A country rush hour.

Fogs sleepy blanket.
Suns greedy hands pull at it,
to warm our cold skin.

Starring at the screen,
waiting on one more download.
Your sad words echo

Morning walk of shame,
my bra and poetry books
tucked inside my purse.

snack pants

These brown corduroys

They remind me of first grade.

Jungle gym fever.

Morning revelation

My chest is peeling,
I'd forgotten my sunburn.
To late for lotion.

Horse races

Dressed for the races

watching the horsed go round
bets come up empty.

resume's posted.
Now it's time to either
work out or get to work.

the night dips away,
glasses of wine, empty,
and yet we linger

I think about you

I shouldn't think about you.

But there you are.

a night out alone,
ease-dropping on your first date.
Can't say that i'm impressed.

new address

My Haiku once here,
have found themselves a new home.
Please come for dinner.