Choices How many doors does it take for one to find that door? The man had to choose between the lady or the tiger. In one door there is seeming death, in the other possible death. Predictably, beauty is only possible pain. Talk about probabilities in a world of ifs. The tiger prances on the long bars of its cage. The lady sits without a cage. Who’s to say it is not the man who is caged? How many doors until that door that leads only to the roads between death? How to choose? That is wisdom. To pay the price? That is pain. To be human is to know. Foam-blue I’m crashing right through                Foam-blue Frozen as water freezes As ever water held Only skin. Liquidity is               Constant, and pores Are trapped as even love               Is trapped (underwater, Scaly breaths, hold on to               Holding, my fingers are long As my hair, longer even than               Love). Believe in idols, Idol, the moon gestates through               Waves giving birth to more Waves. We’re riders of the crest               Sun-funnelled at an instant When air is water, and water              The last damaged breath. Haiku Those iron railings Steel butterflies that enfold The glittering globe The making of salt A cup will hold a sea of water. That is all one needs to make Whatever one wants. Salt is Food, licked at from the earth. From sea-earth, I become A saltling, child of the seas, Where I come from you lick At me to soften this rough- Crystal features I am frozen Into. Your tongue creates Water, serrated with moisture Drops fall like surf foam. As white as salt-seas your Cupped hands, gathering Sea-weed from foam, forming Foam at the corners of my Mouth. What will you use me For? I am salt only for you Wounds, and placed there, I Only add more wounds. Heart- Soul-land-love, sea-foam is Nothing without the seas. I Shed my tears, hold them In your cup. New Year 2008 The fireworks open the sky to wounds Crimson, violet, gold, The bruises color the night, Making it wary. The moon hides. Silver. Non-celestial, it closes Leaden eyes on this carnival Of pain. We hide our wounds Again, the fireworks close Itself to a color, a sound And then a memory of Color, of sound. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++