Not fortune, not fame--
to silence desperation
I took up the pen

#

expect four hundred--
twenty-five people come in--
outside, early snow

#

hotel room again,
the traveler leaves no trace--
sheets on crumpled bed

#

once upon a time
I wrote it all for Prudence--
fans come: can't reach her

#

famous writers there--
if you put it on your blog
people call you pig

#

Pennsylvania sky--
can't go home till Denver's done--
airplane never comes

#

immigration talk--
expecting angry shouting--
1,000 new friends

#

must not have got laid--
last year brought lover to boast,
this year denounced me

#

miracles abound
strangers come up to hug me
my name in their books

#

flying to Denver--
last week was Indiana--
leaves already red

#

wounded vet lifts pants--
wait-listed grannies inspect--
"At least you can walk."

#

"I hate haiku, man!"
Until I met Issa's ghost,
I hated it, too.

#

I worked the toilets
of public bathrooms scrubbing--
all gratitude now

#

Bill Clinton's coming
after Sarah Palin leaves--
I miss the whole thing

#

copy-editing
in this midnight hotel room--
Letterman and I

#

I can't wake up, I
can't wake up, I can't wake up,
I cannot wake up.

#

Tijuana to here
is a good long walking road--
a hard road, red road.


I'll post more in a few days. Let me sleep first. Thank you, Seattle, Penn State, and the kind Republican audience in Denver. And thanks to my long-suffering UIC students who forgave me for all these journeys. Almost done--just Oregon and Arizona to go...

Kobayashi!

# posted by Luis @ 2:26 PM