ABUSING THE TRANSITIVE PROPERTY
Book One: A Handful of Bones
Published by Brett Clay Miller at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 Brett Clay Miller
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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 will be comprised of 575 haikus and, for purposes of your digestion as well as my accelerated gratification, will be broken into six books, of which this, "A Handful of Bones", is the first.
(1) the premise
if the workaday
musings of men equal life
and life equals art...
(2) vocal gestation
you must know that words
bear life as effectively
as any mother
(3) repeat offender
my crime is one of
forgetfulness; by your face
i am convicted
(4) it's not noise
it's the music our
lives make when they're picked up and
rattled together
(5) distracted in the courtyard
spring creeps in between
the bricks, and my feet must learn
again to be bare
(6) likewise unnamed
the heat is brutal
but i am chilled by thoughts of
what goes unwritten
(7) legacy
bridges born of sweat
have no patience for rust or
its clever cousin
(8) nothing personal
electronics fail
me sooner or later in
ways no human can
(9) by virtue of proximity
this is the summer
before what comes next, riddled
with premature fame
(10) art in a double-wide
my thoughts fit neatly
in surprisingly travel-
sized, pre-creased boxes
(11) present offer excluded
there are travesties
i would embrace for the sake
of resolution
(12) why i left the farm
the out-and-about
twins are, without a doubt, my
preferred co-workers
(13) the many faces of symmetry
what does it portend
that i must round to the half-
hour or the dollar?
(14) a tiny, breathless window
not that i didn't
catch fireflies; i just didn't
have a proper jar
each day requires its
own anthem, that song will not
languish in its throat
(16) a dear and fickle friend
of all that i could
foreswear, you would reach my lips
most unwillingly
(17) another man's war
his brothers were born
of an exercise in death
that none can forget
(18) return to asbury
i have much to say
but what tumbles out is of
dubious value
(19) praise God for lost letters
there are only two
reasons in this world, and two
plans; mine is not one
(20) something about a balloon
i've begun to float
away; i need you to come
home and hold my string
(21) a remnant in the west
what waits ahead is
friendlier when i seek its
face and not its fists
(22) the price of need
eggs in one basket:
ill advised, perhaps, but i
feel so organized!
(23) east side yard art
mother mary, clasped
in peace, thoughtfully framed by
a sawed-off bathtub
(24) an unwilling participant in a three-legged race
no matter how he
stabs his shadow, it remains
of itself benign
(25) i don't want a pickle
my canine friend and
i have parallel thoughts on
going for a ride
(26) as a little child
in order to see
something sparkle, we must think
at the right angles
(27) the kiss of miles
when my gut says, "north"
i have to wonder: true north
or magnetic north?
(28) prequel
at this altitude
my days, by design, are an
approximation
(29) whistler at ten thousand feet
any foraging
will sound predatory at
two in the morning
(30) mountains at my back
i leave you as a
man leaves his house in
the early morning
(31) fingertips' folly
two tiny letters
send me up the highway in
the wrong direction
(32) anchored, but fluttering
today i hang on
the clothesline, because there is
air. and sky. and sun
(33) two boys gazing skyward
some days, a long pole
is all that's needed to make
things right with the world
(34) egg salad
i dozed beneath the
bridge today and dreamed that i
misplaced my dream
(35) say it isn't snow
at his own expense
a single visionary
dares to dress forward
(36) the texture of choice
adventure does not
necessarily equal
the height of comfort
(37) the garage syndrome
i am undone by
an accumulation of
awkward memories
(38) lines of force
one misplaced part (word)
wields the power to make or
break a project (life)
(39) ihoppers
again i wonder
is it their faith or their youth
that makes them shiny?
(40) hopped up on cocoa
i would tell you my
story, if only i knew
the me that was there
(41) warm mourning
a spontaneous
trip to the coast becomes a
nine-month hiatus
(42) and it was so
whatever the stakes
a poor understanding does
not negate the truth
(43) regardless
what remains unsaid
has a density the years
only reinforce
(44) words are disciples, sleeping in the garden
yesterday i learned
my dad will die; today i
watched him comprehend
(45) still sleeping
what do you say to
a dying man? my words are
empty and contrived
(46) these boxes i stack
i am afforded
a simpleton's brevity
thanks to this structure
(47) remembering my humanity
i am conceited
in my faith; i admit there
is still beauty here
(48) living the design
the leaves fall, but the
berries remain to nourish
us through the winter
(49) the alternative
goodbye to the man
who tried to teach me what it
means to be a man
a lesson from leaves:
though they fall, and their bodies
crumble, still they dance
(51) a creator's disregard for order
God has not my lust
for sequence and symmetry
whom i feed like pets
(52) the currency of liberation
i can afford to
spend seventeen syllables
as they were loose coins
(53) an arbitrary blend of distraction and follow-through
I check the box: not
that I think there is mail, but
that I made the trip
(54) conversations we never had
you may speak freely
in my head, but don't appear
in my dreams half-dead
(55) who is my father?
remind me lest i
forget remind me lest i
forget remind me
(56) sorry and not sorry
i am more of a
twilight bank ambler than a
sunfire sand basker
(57) if there must be clouds, let them be white and puffy
a few pounds off my
disposition may be the
weight i need to shed
(58) head back and dripping
the best from-the-gut
laughs i've ever heard come from
kids in the bathtub
(59) red herring
the last poser i
expected today was a
smell that tried too hard
(60) almost
few modifiers
are as deeply couched in such
quiet treachery
(61) snowflake
delicate becomes
formidable by virtue
of numbers alone
(62) origami
i am but a box
fearful of its shape; waiting
to be unfolded
(63) even in death
only an antique
chevy could negotiate
the void between us
(64) a dizzying cycle of salvation and betrayal
plans that coalesce
freely in the morning light
cower in the dark
(65) deceptively simple choices, folded neatly in a drawer
red screams in my face
as blue can only whisper
whom will i pay heed?
(75) little else to offer
if the strength of my
embrace can bleed out your pain
redemption is near
(76) sometimes i wake
while setting the clock
or taking mortality
for a morning drive
(77) the twilight scenario
two more minutes and
i would have missed a truly
exquisite sinking
(78) time as i have come to know it
a stealthy beast of
quiet rapidity and
voracious hunger
(79) sleeping in
lament with me our
wayward youth, when we were blind
to the smirk of death
(80) little league revisited
an errant waft of
popcorn and bubblegum drags
me back to third base
(81) memory
as available
for my head as it is for
my mac? if only
(82) time to go home
west clings fiercely to
the promises that east has
already broken
(83) the tropical birds were only a distraction
it's not the dying
that hurts, he responds, but the
waking up alive
(84) having survived
call me not wise (for
i will prove myself a fool)
only less surprised
(85) two in the bush
who dares to reach must
also relinquish what is
already in hand
(86) smoking, and unable to commit
she crosses the street
like a squirrel on fire, then
stops to find her breath
(87) billboard
shining example
of feigned american quick-
fix naiveté
(88) frivolity in the parking lot
i am heartened by
the sight of men who still ride
their grocery carts
(89) the once-reluctant visitor
though he returns to
give advice on lawnmowers
and cash, i miss him
(90) never mind the secret stash; what i really want to know is...
what does it feel like
to be free of this body
and its ravening?
(91) early morning appointment
an eager wind shoves
thursday into view, and my
skin begins to sing
(92) strung like beads and worn liberally about town
in haikus, as in
life, all can be distilled to
a handful of bones
(93) separation anxiety
my phone will bite its
lip until the moment i
step in the shower
(94) spring has brown eyes
april shifts her mood
from storm to sun as freely
as a tearful child
(95) smoke, snort and swallow: a process
by which i lost the
peace i sought and shrugged off the
one who could give it
(96) reflex
war is imminent
when consumption requires no
flame or blade or grass
(97) building the perfect beast
each time i descend
the stairs, the creature in my
basement sprouts a limb
(98) improbably mobile
some greens can not roll
solo, but need a brother
for validation
(99) hot lava
what is it about
fire that so captures a boy's
imagination?
(100) testicles
if you must hang fake
ones from your bumper, they must
be missing elsewhere
###
Brett Clay Miller, born in Kansas City and currently living in Broomfield, CO, is a locksmith by trade. He is the author of several collections of poetry, including, most recently, "The Moody Historian". Brett is working on the remaining five books of the haiku project begun here as well as a traditional collection with the working title, "Revolutionaries". If you wish to contact Brett, he would welcome your emails at eslllc@yahoo.com.