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His must be the worst job ever
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In 40 minutes, the process server my husband hired will be here.

(I guess that line can stand alone today and maybe I tell the rest of the story. always story. always words.)

A nearly perfect Haiku.


It could be written again to conform to the accepted structure.

In 40 minutes,
my husbands process server
will be here. It starts.

I could write this over an over again. Will it get any more perfect? Will the pitch of these notes ever be more clear?

How do you make an ending a poem?

What is the music of this coda that is prelude too?

Where is lyric, and piano amidst the staccato, vibrato, is this the crescendo, or do I need to study theory and law to hear in a new way?

These sounds are ancient. I more listen to the earth-drum. Like any other delivery, of song, of child, of work, this music has its own intelligence, I am the vessel. I am the vessel, I am the drum, I am the earth. I am ancient and knowing and holding and wise, half and whole notes.

I am whole, I am whole.

I am ending a the first movement of my beautiful life – one that was perfect and insufficient. Should I be listening to Mozart now?

30 minutes now.
Should I listen to Mozart?
Three movements; I’m whole.

A knock. He’s early.


This is awesome! Two haikus contained in a larger meta-poem about itself and about a moment in life and about a first movement of life. Very touching and very well-done. I love “How do you make an ending a poem?”

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