ABUSING THE TRANSITIVE PROPERTY
Book Two: Leaving Kansas
Published by Brett Clay Miller at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 Brett Clay Miller
License Notes
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Table of Contents
"Abusing the Transitive Property" is a haiku project constructed on the premise that common observations and musings, born as they are of uncommon lives, are, by extension, art. Or not. Naturally, the project is comprised of 575 haikus, broken into six books:
Book One (Haikus 1-100): "A Handful of Bones" (2011)
Book Two (Haikus 101-200): "Leaving Kansas" (2011)
Books Three through Six: In progress
This second book contains: eighty new haiku compositions; twenty fragments of real or imagined value that were rescued from earlier, more abstract prose and recast as haikus; and one "superku", a singular poem fashioned of five haiku stanzas (a testament to the bitter truth that some concepts stubbornly refuse to be distilled into a single set of seventeen syllables). Here we go...
* * *
(101) blood runs cold
in the summer, i
am alive, distilled; in the
winter, only dead
(102) digging for arrowheads
our children find our
fashions absurd, and then they
become their parents
(103) casually, as if her beauty is a nuisance
she wanders through the
market, long hair bridled at
the nape of her neck
(104) fighting through the layers
his eyes are quick to
appreciate, but his feet
are slow to engage
(105) without even a rainbow to mark your passage
you slip in and back
out of my consciousness like
an afternoon squall
(106) does the pianist step in
because the drummer
is finished, or because he
refuses to stop?
(107) entering the fray
being right is of
little comfort; opinions
are heavy as stones
(108) the get away getaway
that self-loathing could
breed in a place of such raw
beauty dismays me
(109) 2:00 in the forest
all i can hear is
the rain and the benign thump
of my walking stick
(110) what the water said
the river had twelve
conversations with itself,
but now the spell fades
(111) cornfields on the right, retail on the left
we crouch on the edge
of the prairie and pretend
we are not kansas
(112) f***ing the warden
her smell could fill him,
and yet her kiss was nothing
but a well-heeled thief
(113) the next big thing
because, when coupled,
age and what-ifs are twice as
excruciating
(114) in the moment and of themselves
the reality
is that they are thinking the
same of another
(115) a fine idea
will the face of this
thing be friendlier than its
retreating back end?
(116) frequency is king
what saturday finds
pleasurable loses face
when taken daily
(117) canopy at noon
shade is distinct from
shadow; only one can make
peace from another
(118) beneficiaries
the trees and the wind
conspire to build the soundtrack
for my endeavors
(119) minivan
i looked up in time
to see them go; this will not
be my legacy
(120) both here and there
i speak in side notes
and chastise you for getting
lost along the trail
(121) homesick
the surly middle-
easterner punches his cash
register and frowns
(121) matters of plurality
a lone passer-by
says, "excuse us"; i wrestle
with the inference
(122) the bridge behind me
this unseasonal
breeze is last night's shirt, sweet with
things half-forgotten
(123) a cacophony downstairs
and when the nether
regions quiet, the rightful
king is free to speak
(124) my place in the pack
ever a man of
patterns, i'm repeated in
perpetuity
(125) a simple act of consumption
what pleases the tongue
elicits a primitive
thirst that none can sate
(126) seriously, never mind
i hereby retract
any and all death-wishes
spewed out in my youth
(127) focus and purge
my goals know dispatch
principally by the hand of
opposing extremes
(128) diver down
this plunge is made sweet
by virtue of those who wait
for me to surface
(129) a chance encounter
thanks to the mayor
i'm now painfully aware
that i lack lackeys
(130) red rover, red rover
he can laugh, but each
time his mirth must elbow its
way past throat and teeth
(131) beggared
at what cost might we
learn that our eyes are meant to
behold, not devour
(132) building the box
if i can wrap it
in vocabulary, my
heart may well follow
(133) middle ground is a fairy tale kingdom
must i spend every
waking moment in pursuit
of moderation?
(134) dozing in the wilderness
my dream has taken
root, such that it has new paint
and its own address
(135) in a heartbeat
conversations lurch
from music to three-year-olds
with leukemia
(136) the dead among us
anonymous grave
markers, like so many geese
dotting the hillside
(137) fair weather friend
its bluster subsides
with the light, but its smell lives
on in my child's hair
(138) i even heard an owl
darkness did not so
much descend as displace the
wary from the trail
(139) in the morning
she touches him when
their defenses are down, and
everything is new
(140) a workman's eye
i know you by your
hands: how they map the craft and
creed of your labors
(141) the fix is in
a transition by
nature, spring bears little risk;
winter, however...
(142) perpetual tenant
this foyer guards the
smell of 1965
with ferocity
(143) apostrophic intent
i am not one to
punctuate in vain, or hang
a guiltless indent
(144) forty-two minutes shy
could i be the first
to know the paralysis
of night rain on leaves?
(145) tolerant bedfellows
i am a man of
numerous u-turns in a
world that allows it
(146) a parting of ways
i am perplexed when
desire does not show up with
opportunity
(147) alternative fuels
my obsession to
see the end of a thing is
near to consumption
(148) second-floor browser
he has stroked no one
absently or otherwise
as this book, this night
(149) slippage
as four o'clock waves
from the bus, obstacles move
into formation
(150) height advantage
i am aware of
that which sparkles as keenly
as when i was three
(151) a dream, served warm from a bottle
though he has no taste
for it, he is intrigued that
she offers her own
(152) squish, wiggle and stretch
i had forgotten
how pleasant it is to be
barefoot in the park
(153) the night that never was
dreams remind us that
yesterday and tomorrow
are fraught with danger
(154) city in repose
she prefers crouching
in the foothills to walking
tall on the prairie
(155) butterflies and motorcycles
a trail's demeanor
depends on the direction
in which one travels
(156) thunder
my bones comprehend
a language that my mouth could
never hope to speak
(157) riding the train
some say amazement
is the sign and cost of age;
i am not surprised
(158) welcome to my world
nothing is louder
than a crowd of introverts
trying not to scream
(159) i couldn't let it go
do not think me a
hostage; i am cast away
of my own accord
(160) stranded on the bank
i wish to be a
stone, revealing my best when
immersed by your hand
(161) if you were a rock, i would collect you
is it you i miss
or the years that have darted
cat-like between us?
(162) ridden carelessly about the township
if repetition
breeds creatures of habit, then
i am but a beast
(163) watch your altitude, young man
she is best described
in terms of elevation
(not population)
(164) the ways of freedom
inhale nothing but
sweet air; swallow nothing but
food, water and words
(165) habitual homecomings
each time i'm compelled
to straighten a frame, my dad
is resurrected
(166) dead man walking
"i'm leaving you," he
says, safe in the sanity
her nearness provides
(167) no blasphemy intended
god saved my soul, but
only a job or two will
redeem my friday
(168) the creative process
i'm sorry that i
must stare through you in order
to see properly
(169) left hand canyon
rumblings, flashes and
bluster from the sky conjure
more delight than dread
(170) unexpected reunion
fragrant green ninjas
lurk in the warehouse, begging
me to pick a fight
(171) straddling state lines
i am coming to
know the distance between the
forest and the woods
(172) lily, stacy and debbie
once certain doors have
been opened, they can never
be properly shut
(173) the smell of paper and ink
what sleeps in a drawer
becomes groggy, forgetful
of its heritage
(174) roller doll, chance met
wordless, she squints at
me over her shoulder (out
of habit, no doubt)
(175) for lack of a predator
i have developed
a stampede mentality,
though none run with me
(176) the pta meeting
her laugh tumbles out
and bounces around with no
measure of restraint
(177) writing my own
fan mail
wordplay for me is
a one-man sport (woe to the
snippet that resists)
(178) left on magnolia
the pavement swallows
itself in a hasty climb
to meet the sisters
(179) the commerce of our passions
kisses for kisses
become piled in stacks (good luck
finding a handle)
(180) breakdown on biscuit street
my own company
is inexplicably near
the wrong side of town
(181) afternoon in a brothel
a bait-hearted wench
bustles in time, awake with
the north wound yawning
(182) faces grim and thoughts swirling
mailmen in the snow
muscle their load quietly,
writhing in the white
(183) passing bipeds
when they smile, they are
just swimming against the sun
and squinting westward
(184) sowing the field of vision
had the womb pupils,
it might just blink to the left
and invite me back
(185) intruder on the set
self-evident ghost
of a hair floats by, dangling
a tiny reason
(186) inedible by morning
what is rather meant
remains often unsaid, left
too long by the fire
(187) picking our way through the morning with caution
all memories are
fragile; they behave like soap
bubbles in the wind
(188) the finesse of a brush fire
whose sense of worth lies
as much in the burning as
in the cold ashes
(189) you phemism, i phemism
salvage is but a
subtle breed of wreckage, and
sleep is but a snack
(190) speaking lightly of dark issues
somebody had to
shatter first glass, but who is
to measure the wound?
(191) shift
things were different
there on the ground, before it
was just the bottom
(192) the screen door slams
sunday was the queen
of options; now i find that
both of them are gone
(193) into the night
much goes unspoken,
and i'm cubby-holed to the
point of wakefulness
(194) all that the years have been
to think that i was
really the neighbor's dog,
a much-befuddled guest
(195) eyes pointed and toes forward
each day we erect
observation posts, then roast
in their flames by night
(196) oh, to be slathered
i am more than day-
old bread, unattended in
a vintage toaster
(197) adjusting my pose
i'll begin again
as if i'd never strayed this
stiff diorama
(198) waters well-salted
i've fashioned my mask
and adjusted the intake;
i'm ripe for the dive
(199) unmuffled
i'm born into the
sun, taking liberties with
the nearest suffix
(200) damp in the exhalation
i am weary of
the feast, yet still ravenous
naked as i came
#
Bonus
superku #1: eyes stapled forward
If it is over
my shoulder, perhaps it should
stay there. When I turn
back and squint, my gut
aches with the pain of forward
motion. It aches with
myopia; the
inability to fold;
what was then and therefore now.
If I don’t react
when you call my name, take no
offense; just as I
abhor sudden stops,
I cannot stomach your raw
acceleration.
# # #
About the Author
Brett Clay Miller, born in Kansas City in 1967 and currently living in Broomfield, CO, is a locksmith by trade and a writer by nature. He is the author of several collections of poetry, including, most recently, "The Moody Historian" and "A Handful of Bones". If you wish to contact Brett, he would welcome your emails at eslllc@yahoo.com.
