Haiku

The wind must die down.
The ice becomes the water.
All must be fluid.

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I showed the cops where
Dad touched me using their dolls.
Those were the good days.

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Come down later and
Set hobos on fire with me.
We can watch them burn.

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Children are afraid
Of the dark and often cry.
That’s when to touch them.

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The old Indian
Sang a song of creation.
I gave him smallpox.

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I had a hammer.
I hammered in the morning.
My sister is dead.

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If cancer is nice
And AIDS a gift from above,
Then my life is great.