jettison the hope
i quit, therefore I might rise
aloft on disdain

a toasted morning
my sole eventide desire
mourning roving souls

I'm here to write now
the threads of fate intertwine
part of the whole quilt

what is said of pride
is it the last refuge of
those who are dead souls?

if you wish to live
gracefully, stop dying
and start living well

the show of power
always a shade of grey in
the face before snark

paronychia
glowing on my rude finger
please go and get fucked

paronychia
glowing on my rude finger
go and get fucked

words escape me but
here are the words, written, now
escaping my keys

heralding the dawn
prolific shitty haiku
drenching the welcome

the source now divorced
from the filtration system
flows unseen, shallow

insufflate darkness
my once beloved vortex
finished with that shit

condensed vitriol
sublimates on my black heart
vaporized at once

ever see the horror
film, man finds pregnant woman
then one night she's not

he has sex with her
then he's sucked into her then
she's pregnant again...

eats a man up now
don't it? add to the idea
there's male and female

signs in the stars, and
such idealism does say
a lot, to us cocks...

gather ye ova
and dash the phallus once more
audience reclines

let us face the truth
gender biased axiom
males: superior

oh come on now then
aren't we all fung shuied or
what have you man/woah

we are the breaks to
each other on the runaway
highway of life

Got to have our fix
Woman to stroke our ego
So simple us men

Give money to banks
They can't manage our Billions
Capital idea

Nothing fucks up your
Friday like realizing
its only Tuesday

my vertex 2 sleeps
as if spiked by nembutal
fuck you ocz

Lonely small town girl
Bad boy. Fast car. Alcohol.
Tragedy ensues.

a disburbing prose
designed to get tension
might not need answers...

so we leave it here
read, green, blue, and so on,
angry sounds of loss

Romantic Christmas Memories

Approximately 50,000 universes explode in my left nostril, the sparkly bursting lights reminding me of dead Christmases past with all the bright green and red pools of bloody wrapping around the memories of grandparents and dinners that are no more and never to be again. The farce-ness of it all, the dead curb-side forests after New Years

well I just made a
slight investment in cheese
tonight, films that is

tom servo and crow
are going to haunt me for
the next five months now

colleague of janis
the rapture of recaptcha
delivers the goods

Congratulations
Bad Haiku, and welcome to
your new web server.

ringing familiar
holy deja vu, batman
badhaiku term search

said tolling bell pealed
amid recently deceased
do not ask for whom

a monkish Merton
on hearing the tolling Donne
paid some fine homage

in freshman english
found no man is an island
John Donne, collected

seeing we have choice
i rarely watch tv now
the web is more fun

I hope this place does
not become c-span book tv
in haiku form now...

it's all relative
whilst no man is an island
some are insular

mmhmm, we all live
in our own little realms of
existence, bubbles

who said no man is
an island. thomas meron
I think, he died from

an electric fan
during a shower and this
way to go, not cool

what others may think
defines so very little
for my existence

tolkien wrote in his
fantasy writing the world
of his creation

was sung into be
a discordant voice, a
dark lord sang his own

in his myth this voice
brought evil into that world
but the song was sung

the song would be sung
again, when the time came to
make it all anew

sometimes meaningful
often whistled out of tune
haiku is a song

looking for reasons
predicting inspiration
pointless cogitation

sometimes you get it
other times it's a conundrum
it doesn't matter

sounds as if zounds a
golem has walked from rabbis
halls, seeking revenge

for working sabbath
a man of clay, only shut down
when God becomes Death

boot to the head

sodden cerebrum
besotted with simulacrum
holy frijoles

horizons are mine
cantering, feeble t'wards naught
a ghostly gallop

on burial grounds
some erect a mirrored hall
poltergeists galore

so what do people
here care about, what drives you
all to create this

what was the old gen
x stereotype, cobain or
to fade away, to step

back from the limelight
and to settle down, the
fourth turning then?

you have families
maybe. people love, die, breathe
believe, disbelieve

transcendence was a
lost art perhaps to those who
forget to transcend

still though life goes on
I repeat over the years we don't
know one another for

real, just what we read
here, of each other, I would either
hate or like you as

I deem fit over
time and likewise, or not care
likewise. wish I could

passion is better
than delayed suicide, because
so much powdered words

are just dead dust with
no water, no life, just dust mites
posing as writers

well I'm glad I care
because I can't be the person
who is too cool for school

and I care too much
because I am not wired
to be a "aesthete"

that is whatever
passes here for "great haiku"
is a relic of

Gen X past

well to be honest
it's like a fire hydrant
dogs marking the pump