The Humble Idea

. . . an idea has
hit me smack between the eyes!
This is Haiku month

I will unload a
multi-layered mess of
five-seven-five verse.

Starting forthwith
stare "primitive" Japanese
literary culture

in the face, right here.
Seventeen-syllable swoons
shall slap you silly

for the rest of the
month, or until I just get
plain sick of the thing.

If someone counts my
sound-sets, be assured that
some are off. I mean

that these are not just
poems, but a reflection
of my functional

capacity as I
write. And sometimes, on purpose,
I try and see what

words will come if I
ingest this, or that, or even
this and that. That's art.

Gather your toilet-
cams, your raw fish, your rising
sons and comb your straight

black hair to a beat
stereotypical of
literary culture

done up as well as
I can. Think of this as an
ode to sweaty June.

Malacampa

A vacation spent
hearing family wish death
on blood relatives
for pesos and pride,
and bad winds swirl from nowhere,
the dead dishonored.

“She was the richest?”
"That’s right – but then she gave it
to people like you"

Peace alights, dove-like,
in evening cool, as we sip
brew to let loose love.
Five-ace hands bewitch
and, hearing how carabao
brained Uncle good,
laughter, sweet laughter,
fills the house with a strange good -
or at least a trace.