Haiku #788

788.

The ad then stated:
‘Even more reality’;
Impossibly so.

Fraying

What became of extras,
Always dressed in grey;
One or two make limelight,
Did many die afraid?

The fray is also velveteen
On antlers in stag-youth;
They rub it on the oaken trunks,
It’s like an aching tooth.

No one knows the minds of deer
Despite the rhymes of men;
Wherever fall the extras then
It’s not for me to deign.

Production Lines

A killer resurrected
On carnival streets,
Arrested, re-sentenced,
By wigs weighing meat,
Though fogs are a prop
And a juror’s asleep.
In the filmmaker’s lens
Victims aren’t heroes,
The victims are missing,
Their paycheck’s a zero.

Each vision has errors,

Ruptures and holes, Boxed set collections, Out from death doled.
Dear Mr Producer,
What good is your lesson,
Your replays reduce
Any sanctified blessings.
You’ll profit in pounds
And buy your new houses,
From parental lost souls
And bloodstains on blouses.

Haiku #641

641.

Fire eternal, yes,
Criminals burn cars, flames high.
People on tv.

Haiku #625

625.

The profession fuels
The deaths. People wouldn’t die
So much, with this truth.

Haiku #560

560.

In Hollywood yes,
Everything is a drama.
Rebirth me after.

Haiku #461

461.

I would like to live
In Boston, ’85, but
It’s a studio.