Some crap I made up wandering through galleries in the Chicago Arts District:

More Art Upstairs

Under the barrel-vault sky
walks a man with velvet shoes.
"Lo te gusto' ?"
He passes red balloons.

There is some I'm leaving out...
Of strings and stares
and the bottlecap-moon.
And a broad shouldered girl
with her laquered guitar
come correctlly, amble past, and leave soon.

A poem texted to me by a friend:


I don't dare ask the poet
her inspiration.
Every drop of perspiration.
A moment's lust-
all to trust
ink. Paper
isn't as telling.
Words show hesitation.

Here is one, the result of boredom in my Russian Lit. class. Not a haiku, but still:

Art...inevitably.
Soft sacred optimism.
Tart and lucid,
Calls and re-calls
beauty
Look! Despair. Indulge.

Another walking home haiku:


House with a blue door,
Sidewalk sanctuary. Peace.
Presence. Walking home.