[More experiments with the haiku form, mostly in the dark, literally and otherwise...]
as if expected
somewhere, peach clouds rush before
the early moon
the silver crescent
bathes in the reach of the sun
I, in false blue lights
coming this mad fall
a doomed story of courage
to resist Netflix
normal except for
goldfish crackers and whiskey
and sword-swinging at dusk
chasing wisps of dream
leftovers of the mad night
still afloat at dawn
in my daily chats
with the dead much is said
in flame, tear and smoke
so late in the night
that healing spirit water
ads run with a sneer
a razor-sharp moon
slices my finger as I try
not to fall asleep
I start the dream by
staring at the morning star
then they say it’s real
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