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Daisy petal breeze--
She loves me? She loves me not.
Should have sent a rose.

She, coming about,
nose to the breeze, minds her hair.
Skirt luffs, spilling wind.

The little black dress
shows more than I wanted, but
less than I desired.

Whimsical clothing
Threatens to, but does not, fail.
False advertising.

The hormones whisper,
"Look at her, drool, and become
what you most despise."

She stares back at him
Meeting his gaze, eye to eye.
Shy, he turns away.

Fear, first of her scorn;
then, of the fear's own footfalls.
Fear of fear itself.

Solitude fills me;
Silence speaks to me; so much
more than aloneness.

They go home, couples,
to be alone, together.
I, alone alone.

Depression's black bruise
behind the eyes, in the sun
fades to noisome green.

Trademarks: Male, Female.
So the rest of us just rent
generic genders.

Get up, brush my teeth,
Invent today's new gender,
put it on and go.

Creating genders
in virginity's vacuum--
work without a net.

If love be a verb
then celibate gender were
the subjunctive mood.

Multiple genders
Learning to say "no, thank you"
in eight languages.

I can't know if I'll
respect me in the morning.
Sorry about you.

Vignettes in haiku,
Snippetts of things trivial,
Essence of being.

Copyright 1999, 2000 Richard J. Edgar