The more I restrain the idea of form and I begin to write haiku as a series of thoughts rather than events, the avenues of expression that I had thought to be closed seem to open. I’m excited to experiment with random thought processes as a means of muse. Our abstract brains are MUCH cooler than our thinking brains.

Thinking, bubble, sit.
Large armoir, I fit inside.
Though, feet dangle down.

Loving, jagged, reach.
Shelves are high, I can’t see up.
Reach is relative.

I can smell dinner.
Next door, she paints, cooks, who knows.
Neighbors, lonely too?