And here's the haibun, still untitled:
I mark my place in books with bits of my life. A grocery receipt in Middlemarch. An unused bus ticket in The Rape of Nanking. In The Ambassadors a postcard from Paris. It occurs to me this morning while shelving my books that I mark my place in men with bits of my body. My dick in Todd. Big toe in David. Ed, whom I thought I was finished with, has my left elbow. The beautiful stranger last night whose name I did not get has all ten of my fingers holding him open.
You can open a book of poems
at almost any place. I want my life
to be a book of poems in that way.