sedoka cluster

 it is ok 

not to have 

any words

to spill

into poetry...

it is ok

.

behind

a parked car

red taillights 

i take 

another sip 

of cheap wine

.

the spinning

of yellow flowers

a book

of tanka by

Mokichi 

lies on my table

.

for a while 

staring 

at the swirls 

on a 

peppermint candy...

where is hope

.

neighbor's 

puppy 

pooping...

rearranging 

the crease

in her white dress

.

for 

the duration 

of my afternoon 

dancing to myself 

some woman 

called me 'zesty'