Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Keith Higginbotham: Four/ Five (depends how you count the haiku)


name a garden—you
the apparition in it desolate like
a star’s book
blinking something

stop the eyes
on Buddha: I moved the still
origin, printed your
plum across the indefinite

in skin rain—

together we are a simple protest
in the halfway sun

Flip the Rainbow

The jagged avant-garde, a face-off
with threesome, the
abstract gauntlet nods to old-school dark. 

You had a supremacist backbone,
a trapezoid in it, rotten crater
overshadowed experimental
work in strip.

There was your nude corporate
knight slouching by a salt pine, a mechanistic
shame, foiled off to wash
his watched dome.

And the brunt of it, the first word
was learning. The other person always
soaks everything. 


In the peak sea-noise
a beefy, disabled weed
tears the countryside


The corn wind beneath
the wrinkled heron pinewoods
odor of boxcar

Paper Ceiling


the handwritten phone,

Reflection river cannot
flame—snow fire is
smog torched is, we cannot

want ourselves

sitting on heaven’s


crows to caveat beside the
falling doors.


Keith Higginbotham's poetry has recently appeared or is forthcoming in Blue & Yellow Dog, Cricket Online Review, ditch, Eratio, G(o)BBet, Otoliths, and Sawbuck. He is the author of Carrying The Air on a Stick (The Runaway Spoon Press) and Prosaic Suburban Commercial (Eratio Editions). He lives in Columbia, SC.


steve roggenbuck said...


Bard said...

Keith's poems draw me in and get me thinking every time. I like his style.