A blog in honor of Ernest Hemingway's continual search for the perfect sentence. Now in a new and improved haiku format!
The crane flies from the
island, spooked by a gang of
rowdy, rough seagulls
Blank canvases can
offer a new world or a
ceaseless fearful void
Dopamine drained from
developing brains serves the
unquenchable Dow
Strangers passing by,
their faces blank masks, reveal
nothing as they go
Reaped from our ripe fields,
but not for you and me, who
stand on fallow land