Pops

Cinq sept, cinq, et puis quoi? Des pops, ça commence dans une maison, like, sans chauffage, des feuilles de thé plein les dents, des noses pleins les mouchoirs, un chat qui chie partout et le mer à perte de view.

 

 

The cap you gave me

wears good now –

right when rain starts again.

 

 

Tea, books and candles!

Mustafa’s gone –

what next?

Downtown Seattle traffic –

leaves swing

by the side of the road.

 

 

 

Victoria taxicabs –

pale blue bugs

gliding along.

 

                –Plick ! water on the white

                cold bathroom floor –

                cockroaches run and hide.

 

 

Streets of Victoria –

I get lost–

visions of Rotterdam.

 

February Afternoon –

NY policeman   

chews an orange on his horse.

 

          Above the street –

a dead leaf

            hangs from a cable

 

Winter dusk –

            every move I make

                             reality fades.

 

Endless forests –

our car hums

with fear.

 

 

    Kicking tin cans

    in the streets – Brooklyn’s

    a vaudeville ghost town.

 

 

Sitting in the cabin –

If only you could see me

write these haiku!