for Billy Collins
half a haiku
I wake from my nap screaming. In the dream, my half-naked poem is nailed to the cross, surrounded by a cheering crowd. A critic begins beating it with a hose, trying to torture a confession of its meaning from it. My poem cries out in anguish.
the only thing moving
my right hand
A Hundred Gourds 2:2 March 2013
A Room of My Own: Border Gate Tanka - a touch of winter sunlight ... the barefoot boy waits with two backpacks at the border gate Note: My haiku below could be read as a sequel to the tanka abov...