Haiku Never Published

Drinking my

Without sugar-    No difference.                                        The sparrow shits    upside down—ah! my brain & eggs                                        Mayan head in

Pacific driftwood bole—Someday I'll live in N.

Y.                        Looking over my shouldermy behind was coveredwith cherry blossoms.                                                Winter HaikuI didn't know the names of the flowers—nowmy garden is gone.                                        I slapped the mosquitoand missed.

What made me do that?                                        Reading haikuI am unhappy,longing for the Nameless.                                        A frog floating in the drugstore jar:summer rain on grey pavements.        (after Shiki)                                        On the porchin my shorts;auto lights in the rain.                                        Another yearhas past-the worldis no different.                                        The first thing I looked for in my old garden

The Cherry Tree.                                        My old desk:the first thing I looked forin my house.                                        My early journal:the first thing I foundin my old desk.                                        My mother's ghost:the first thing I foundin the living room.                                        I quit shavingbut the eyes that glanced at meremained in the mirror.                                        The madman emerges from the movies:the street at lunchtime.                                        Cities of boysare in their graves,and in this town…                                        Lying on my sidein the void:the breath in my nose.                                        On the fifteenth floorthe dog chews a bone-Screech of taxicabs.                                        A hardon in New York,a boyin San Fransisco.                                        The moon over the roof,worms in the garden.

I rent this house.[Haiku composed in the backyard cottage at

Milvia Street,

Berkeley 1955, while reading R.

H.

Blyth's 4 volumes, \