Reflections on the bench

I think I saw you (again)

like a cool breeze, swift

and uninterested,

Reducing mirrors (not mine)

to a fisherman's unlucky net.

Call it  a bad (hair) day.

This lady forever laughs

despite the sad news

below her waist,

blood on the pavement

caused by another

motorcycle accident.

Another breeze,

and she was carried away

with the fatal news.

Occupy My Thoughts

Words fell away too soon like monsoon rain, my thoughts dropping like ink

blots on paper. There is no basin to catch their flow.

The dynamics were as simple as shifting the weight of one’s butt in a chair.
It’s the air but it’s not about fair share. Is it economics?

Can a poem like a dog chase its own tail, as they say, about LPAs and ITCZ,

until it spins fast enough to cause a whirlwind?

There is no structure left visible, only fractures and remnants from dispersals.

Pieces have their own randomness like words without season or reason.