cut from the same cloth.
now frayed around the edges.
a life worth living.
Haikus
brown buddha
does the small brown ant
ponder the infinite skies?
little brown buddha.
high noon
on the green back nine
the sun folds into the hole.
is the tally high?
far sighted
glassy eyes don’t see
how the truth was meant to be.
presbyopia.
beggar’s stallions
begging for breakthrough
the alms grow stiffer and weak.
time’s flagellation.
’tis but a scratch
sometimes for the fun
cutting time into your arms.
or losing your way.