smoke, hot glass, your gaze-
unseasonal coincidences
leave me smouldering

ridges and gorge, I
linger for sweet March rain,
lost for words

sweet blossom of midnight
swirling blaze of autumns unbecoming
unraveling your text

this prince of men

For Signor Berlusconi, a corrupt haiku.

bunga bunga bun
ga bunga bunga bunga
bunga bunga bun