Steer straight and hope to

avoid our modern Scylla

and his Charybdis

Rain drips from the tree

branches towards the waiting earth

below, parched, longing 

 It doesn't matter, 

or so I've been told, as the 

path underfoot caves 

Apes still, we turn all

technology towards violence, 

sex, supremacy 

Elusive answers

to existential questions

hang in the half-light 

I'm sick of writing 

these damn haikus and will shut

 it down (April Fools)