Haiku

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I plow the clouds
undust the cumulus
Santa Ana winds breeze by.

It is march
idle and restless.
Evidence is aftersought.

I gather intentions
pack them tightly.
Pursue wild dreams.

This wandering I
so easily scared
Is a wannabe Heron.

This Heron seeks
yearround
habitats.

Yet you instrument
death
at dawn.

Like an old
tune
in Spring.

A cacophony
slicing
scythe.

New year
meant nothing.
This Aries dusk.

I.-

The eagle landed
on a cactus
back yonder.

II.-

Butterflies flew
driven
by Santana Winds.

III.-

Yes, I remember
Satanta.
Like a late autumn.

IV.-

Immobile
I stare,
this waft embraces.

No idea
what am doing.
Nor the horizon either.

1.-

I stopped dreaming
of a liberated Aztlan.
It was enslaving.

2.-

I became one with the past
Two with the present
and thirsty for more.

3.-

I read about Aztlán
and I wrote about Raza:
I was made after its image.

4.-

I am utterly lost
seeking meaning
out of the blue sky.

Typing like hammers
light bright as nails
My head hurts today

Daylight becomes nightfall
wheels spinning on end
woke up today