Drinking my tea
Without sugar-
 No difference.
 
The sparrow shits
 upside down
--ah! my brain & eggs
 
Mayan head in a
Pacific driftwood bole
--Someday I'll live in N.Y.
 
Looking over my shoulder
my behind was covered
with cherry blossoms.
 
 Winter Haiku
I didn't know the names 
of the flowers--now
my garden is gone.
 
I slapped the mosquito
and missed.
What made me do that?
 
Reading haiku
I am unhappy,
longing for the Nameless.
 
A frog floating 
in the drugstore jar:
summer rain on grey pavements.
 (after Shiki)
 
On the porch
in my shorts;
auto lights in the rain.
 
Another year
has past-the world
is no different.
 
The first thing I looked for 
in my old garden was
The Cherry Tree.
 
My old desk:
the first thing I looked for
in my house.
 
My early journal:
the first thing I found
in my old desk.
 
My mother's ghost:
the first thing I found
in the living room.
 
I quit shaving
but the eyes that glanced at me
remained in the mirror.
 
The madman 
emerges from the movies:
the street at lunchtime.
 
Cities of boys
are in their graves,
and in this town...
 
Lying on my side
in the void:
the breath in my nose.
 
On the fifteenth floor
the dog chews a bone-
Screech of taxicabs.
 
A hardon in New York,
a boy
in San Fransisco.
 
The moon over the roof,
worms in the garden.
I rent this house.


[Haiku composed in the backyard cottage at 1624
Milvia Street, Berkeley 1955, while reading R.H. 
Blyth's 4 volumes, "Haiku."]