Your Verse Ain't So Free When I Feed It to Haikus

Leaves swirl chaotic,

a drifting descent down to

the ground. They shriek 'Ohm'

I set, encased in cool dark

folds. Sandalwood stains

my fingers and hovers, a din around

my wrists.

Ohm, what leaves learn as

they choke their throat holes in the

one way and unleash.

The prep kindles vodka palsey.

Stretch. I breath deep

and slow to silence sclerotic

nerves. I exhale a nicotine taint.

Be the tree, my leaf

so not even sinking can

touch you. What can sink?

I inhale sharp. My perception winces:

the moment between a skull rocked back

and the splash of gin, crashing recklessly

against the rising cliffs of my throat.

Be the ohm, my leaf.

Back at the campfire, the ash

of Bodhi Trees smoke.

I unfurl the subtle vibrato;

the ohm lingers, time-sliced pure potential

and settles, driving thick dark ripples

from its storm laced eye.

Giggles rise above racecar

shoes. Swing the me between

dad and grandpa. Ohm.