Smoke and Mirrors

In a perfect world . . .

Category: haiku

Black Eyed Saint


Apathy that’s palpable
As [St.] Anthony bleeds . . .

God forgets

In the beginning,
the path of least resistance
God can forget too . . .



For Rose

reds, crimsons and bloods
there’s a rose in the meadow
snow-covered in love . . .

for a very special flower
and for Deb


Heart my coconut
Aerodynamic brilliance
Forever full moon

My daughter Sarah came by the house a week or so ago and decided to
lounge around on the couch and do some work for school.
Methinks she needed a break from the campus crowd.
At one point she got up to go into the bathroom and I heard her start laughing.
Holding my precious bottle of Headlube, she looked at me and said, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What?” I said.

“Headlube? Come on, Dad. It comes in a friggin’ water bottle for God’s sake!” (she’s still laughing)

“So what,” I said, “It’s usually 8 bucks and I got it for 2.50. It’s just moisturizer and besides it’s my head.”

“See you got the ‘matte’ finish. Nice.” she said.

Yeah, I’m all about the silky smooth but understated cueball noggin’ I guess.
Hmmm . . .
Can’t wait to see how long it will take for the comments to plummet this post to rock bottom.
Yeah, I got it coming with a product that sports that kind of name.
As it says on the bottle, “It’s your head. Buy this lube.”
So, I did and I might add that some days my glabrescent dome is a blessed work of art.
IMHO . . .


truth, masquerading
honesty is a false face
cuts my bleeding soul . . .

This day has found me disillusioned with various aspects of my life.
I am sadly discovering that in the blogworld, things aren’t always what they seem.
Seriously contemplating some time away from this place that I truly love, if only to figure out just what the hell I’m really trying to accomplish here.
I may be back tomorrow, I may not.
Right now, I just don’t know.
Pleading the fifth and I’ll leave it at that.
Much safer that way.
Until next time, be well folks.

Cayenne Sun

Scotch bonnet sunset

Cayenne-red skin screams for ice

air-conditioned bliss kiss


obsidian glass
Opaque windows to the soul
lucidity’s dead . . .


Silent sun, setting . . .
Perfect fifths, the perfect chants
when silence meets grace


every secret has a price

Pathological . . .
Lies will see the light of days
Someone knows the truth


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