disparate haiku (mostly)

by strannikov


the shell of Dorian Gray

is not—too much goo.


passing, in order

to be in absolutely

no hurry at all.


the chief fault is not

that machines can have rhythm,

once we forsake ours.


lateral approach

to the infernal regions,

no direct descent.


clouds steeplechasing

leaping over mountain roads,

over desert peaks.


she, whom I first kissed,

died: she had no cigarettes

in her mouth just then.


measurements grow less

reliable as they grow

far more accurate.


a foreboding calm,

vague listless bluster of breeze

threatening a storm.


not on our knees do

we walk—when we never stand

on them, we don't move.


sushi and sake

two tastes in any sequence

chase each other down.



arachnids live where they prey

on invited guests.

thrice-blessed “location”

is a lesson neither learned

nor lost to spiders.


spiders in the wild—

only as conspicuous

as they dare to be.


domestic spiders

thrive in dark unused corners

and along ceilings.


faith in gravity

permitted them to extol

the guillotine's blade.


an explicit but

partial depiction of an

unfinished idea.

Volvo with birdshit

bespeaks uncovered parking

for the nouveau riche.

a lamp under which

a poorly-lit espresso

with nobody sits.


the poverty that we share

is enough for all.

yes, death is a shame,

can even pose a hardship—

but it is the case.