Author Archives: almostrov

hit the campaign hard with a wife hot enough to turn Florida blue

What’s now a lullaby I memorized by screaming along in my first car at an age you’re closer to than me.

The local noose-maker’s is now a vape shop and the big-box noosery is vacant. My readers get 10% off at noosenow.com with discount code HAIKU.

Blueberry bush presents the palette to which sea and sky aspire

I learned no shelf space was safe, growing up in in the age of the CD box set

Probably, that layer of paint deep in the walls of that apartment dining room still clenches that strand of your hair

I didn’t drive to visit my relatives In Montauk just to hear them wonder How I could possibly live in Boca

No sleep, again Blame it on your irritable diaphragm

Midwinter, and your first summer storm cuts our walk short before the house with the cat we like

Finger-feed up to the wrist Until you learn to return a kiss

Set the record for rabbits spotted, twenty-two point five

Glass on glass chimes when I take out the trash. The past is not the past.

Do we smell as good to death when he strikes us down as a chard stem split?

I’m a few barons shy of an industry, so no one minds my blight.

No clue about C.O.D., just that it wasn’t good enough to order Elastic Plastic from the TV.

bent over the tub until the Mr. Bubbles washcloth renders us sore and immaculate

The ash tray, an heirloom, draws half the aunts to the porch, leaving the others with dishes.

it’s gotten away from us / I dust the baseboard with a socked foot

I try to read your face, but it’s just a map of unattended neighborhood citrus

By my child’s third birthday, I’ll be able to tell them with certainty whether daylights savings makes it darker earlier or later at least at first.

German shepherd guards the persimmon tree whose fruit the owners seem oblivious of

We met in my Khaki Adonis phase, and by Bootcut Botticelli, you were gone.

No rest when you’re both horse and rider, straw and breeze. At least the new neighborhood mural is shaping up to be less lame than the one across town.

a gust of swallows swirls above the plaza of muhly and scrub, part thundercloud, part lung

bike past what was once a punk house, a living room rumored to be hosting a Lifetime reunion every weekend

forty soldiers trapped in a cave and only Phlavius Josephus knows how he silenced their colic

the fear that I spent more hours making your mixtape than you’ll spend listening is fucking with our parity

Rummy and ham hock; bowed over picnic table spooning sides of each other’s breath

Envelop me, autumn, and Suck the ants through my floorboards Back to the underworld

I didn’t crawl my way out the gulf just to blow my knee standing up

my mother tongue reduced to “mangia” sunlight to sugar to syrup

mom juices carrots singing the same half of a cowboy junkies chorus

Shell of a second Beer at the fray of my jorts Nodding and swaying

This blog is sponsored by the Plymouth Dealers of America, who sell the car the pilgrims discovered America for.

dude flirting at the vape shop has his own standards he thinks he’s nailing

jumpshot hits front rim must have forgotten my legs now I have to fetch

Hornet at the stone table, more angry at my ears than worried about its nest.

What’s so threatening to God about me wanting to live forever? I just have more love to give.

No stains on the sports page, I take my coffee hoping for updates to the blogs of my idols‘ middle age

At what point did I start dreaming in decimals

Nobody can think like me. Not even my phone’s auto-fill, that dumb duck.

Gulls about the cliff casting shadows I thought were darker birds. Gone on the same gust.

the only note of my dad’s fashion I want to play is grabbing an  unassuming cap on my way to get bagels

You know Alexa is racist when she won’t even dig deep enough to play Hendrix on her 60s rock channel

Relieved Proust never knew the rufous sfumato at the heart of the first U.S.-edition Rapidash card

so far between — like a squirrel descending a tree  to burrow  into a mountain

Beetle over blade Crow under cloud How did I once spend my afternoons? 

I’ve been in fewer hands than this used CD in this harbor town

with the courage of a room; traveled west breaking flowers; mending laurel swords| *words from “Bob Dylan’s Dream” and “Changing of the Guard” by Bob Dylan

we poured out of high school into cars into homes back into cars like sharks with only fungus to hunt

Kim Shattuck died tonight and you want your trophic integrity tested?

The old suspense of ruler bent away from young wrist spared not my mom

I’m a delicacy; may God drown me in Armagnac ‘fore He barbecues me.

Co-pain. HR protect th’company from you. Ache are from you.

our film’s two settings: shore of my backyard canal driveway, you reverse

alright make it quick the mayor is breathing down my ass on this one

On the walk back the sky re-hues from salmon to whale belly

you’re the smell of fresh yogurt cake I want to fold warm into ice cream

The fleas stormed our yard and got caught in our leg hair. Baby, peace is coming.

You arrived first at double-digit sneaker size and testified to us the grace of T-Macs.

though in Providence the pond was still frozen, and I tread it ’til sunrise when the train returned to Boston

dead giveaway proves tips from omaha legend probably prettiest woman in the world

Too hot for corduroy but I must dress like a 70s boy

Place is in boxes, so I ash in the wok that scrambled my eggs.

Back when Lucy, enduring that first dark night of predatorsound, cursed her ears

your stoned face framed by my foggy rear windshield the cop asks me what’s up with you

Something discouraged the heron and shielded the clam in the current.

Stuffed in a Burdines dressing room, distresssed that my pants never seemed to fall effortlessly, like a cartoon’s.

On balance, are more voids closed than left open? I hope we hug again.

sand pine lacks the aroma of Fraser fir, plus it’s got that trash accent.

the cat’s now suspicious of folds in the blanket it’s slept on since breakfast

Our love has been blessed by the magic that tore the Dakotas apart.

I’m chewing on serviettes. I, the landlord who can evict death.

incoming, cleats up not so much a boy as a cassowary

Reunion at the mall  we ditched high school for. Enter  any sweepstakes lately?