the haiku project began as something vague, an elaborate excuse to take a few minutes out of every day to contemplate a single stanza. and it never had ambitions beyond that.
angels trumpet blooms tiny victrola horns playing pale pink melodies
	sagging, toothless grin dusted with december snow tired jack-o-lantern
		Bright white vapor trails sketch strange hieroglyphics on this blue autumn sky
	this iris harbors no ambition to become a willow tree
		respond, submit