Posture: A Haiku

Flower Peddlers: A Haiku

A leather-looped cord
Hanging taught, holding a light
Where there’d been sorrow

If I were a motorcycle
I’d not wear a radio
Music to me matters too much

I would hope my handler
Would hold fast to my handlebars
She’d perfect my growl, I’d protect her glee

We’d wander where the warm days
Roar quiet into forked roads
Riding together, torque and leather

Talk about the feel

The distance and soft leather

That you’ve never touched

Each new day the dust and frenzy are more hard to contain

It’s clear I’ll need that cowhand after all -irreverent as he is

And leather, and spurs of solid silver, and who knows how many inches of rope

This will cost me

Damned thoroughbred