Haiku

1
The flowers have bloomed
and the locusts devour
any sign of life.

2
Oily dressing with
the pit-marked spinach leaves on
my baby-blue plate.

3
A doe has died on
the searing blacktop. It still
continues to smile.

4
My gaze, downward, with
all the plastic faces here;
coffee stains shirt brown.

5
Break up in tiny
distinct pieces. Now, your heart
is not the same.

6
Please and thanks and a
firm handshake is how killers
pay the bills these days.

7
Cigarette smoke and guns
smell the same when under the
fires of starlight.

8
“Just after this drink,”
courtesy of bars who let
their lights fizzle out.