Jun 16, 2012
Late Night Haiku XLIII
By Timothy R Butler | Posted at 4:52 AM
CXXII. The silent word cuts
As no finely tuned phrase could.
Razor sharp, not quick.
CXXIII. A leaf, a cricket,
An empty cafe chair rusts a bit
In the summer's haze.
CXXIV. What was, was not really,
Or was it what it seemed?
An answer deferred.
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Late Night Haiku
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