A haiku has no / Plural . Bite that hot pencil. / Here mine is
born thus .
My mind is empty. / All electric clouds also / Please give me a
match….
July heat roaring / Hang on to your molten brain / Still !
Ciccadas, still !
An onion is a / Perfect image of my ” self” / Peel the layers
off
This last haiku now : Tomorrow´s temperatures Can´t ruin tonight