Her mismatched legs dance

Her mismatched legs dance
to lonely rhythms, sweeping
elliptical paths
I follow, my eyes searching
the hard wood floors laid above

A wounded beauty

A wounded beauty
early pierced, too often drawn
by ill-caring hands,
wary of his gentler touch
turns away, stabbing two hearts

Stormy ushers shove

Stormy ushers shove
tip-toe stumbles through curtains
half-parted amber
falling against red cushions
arrayed in a fragrant chill

Glutton eyes binge on

Glutton eyes binge on
imaginary fillips,
avid to jostle
a brain grown weary trying
to stem their unthinking bloat

Burgundy seed pods

Burgundy seed pods
in honey locust dangle
bumpy lobes curling
anxious for fall's first strong tug
and the peace of raked earth beds

The world may refuse

The world may refuse
words I toss out, more refuse
atop littered piles
but this trash, offered humbly
is my only true treasure

Forgotten glimpses

Fogotten glimpses
bubble up from decay's dream
airy traps catching
roll-back words in filmy shells
lines warped by a fish-eye lens

Quarter moon's sad gaze

Quarter moon's sad gaze
tilting blue toward the sea,
a too-distant love
whose foamy caps leap, aching
to console her waxing loss

Sacrificial flesh

Sacrificial flesh,
fire-licked, spits its fatty drips,
riles moody embers
crackling out an acrid smoke
to entreat wayward idols

Mocking shadows tug

Mocking shadows tug
ragged cuffs of worn-out eyes
guide sidelong glances
to stitch tightly patterned stares
patching ghostly absences

Her closeted pain

Her closeted pain,
a ruby talisman
she pulls out for falling dusk
its thumbs rubbing facets, to wish
a gentler awakening

Undiscerning tongue

Undiscerning tongue
held and bitten too often,
lures the incisors
to pink meat for a hard chomp.
Its lopped-off tip flopping free

Tiny explorers

Tiny explorers
equipped with twirled antennae,
hard shells, grippy legs
squeeze through crevices, scale walls,
reach for human peeks

Still supple necks

Still supple necks strip

to beseech the reaper's blade

inclining to tempt

his crescent keenly purposed

to sever their spectre's stalks

Hour-swept stage

Hour-swept stage, bare-faced

follows uncounted costumed

bows, taken before

a fixing flood's painted gaze

washes bound acts to pale light

In that voided space

In that voided space
where mingling, light and dust danced
then fled, long-ago
heavens slowed by age, collide
a dull thud, low-pitched echoes

Low, milky vapors

Low, milky vapors
raised by the sun's softened tears
sprawl across paved stones
hissing wispy blue ballads
of their head-consuming tales

If I could steal it

If I could steal it
your sadness, I'd swallow it
whole and deep, keep it
where blind, trapped, never would it
twist its dark ways back to you

Sky splashed blood-orange

Sky splashed blood-orange
awe strikes the waking earth mute
webbed eyes still glued, shut
till one warbling voice sings out
a silent needing, broken

Tweetku, Twaiku, Tweeku... how about Tweetanka?

The Twitterverse hasn't yet settled on a name for Tweeted Haiku, but that won't stop me from posting the 17 syllable mini-poems. Nor will it keep me from tooting my own horn about a most surprising development. Check out my "ranking" in this article at Chicago Now's Breaking Tweets Chicago: Top Haiku Twitter accounts in Chicago. Many thanks to Craig Kanalley for the honor.

It inspired the following haiku:

Slow-creeping, pink blush
false humility's dyed mask
smiles, overwhelming

Meanwhile, here's my attempt at the 5-7-5-7-7 structure of a tanka, which I tweeted yesterday in response to the word prompt "weary":

Mid-summer sunlight's
wavy, white radiation
fans glass-print petals
pushes shut moon-weary lids
burns a crimson path inward