More Haiku

Predawn—unknown car

revving; muffler?

no.

In white of paper

falling:

artist, brushing.

Dark mosquito on white skin

preparing

to drill for red.

In line standing—

waiting breathlessly

at library’s learned door.

Blue flower flaring—

the better to draw

the native bee.

My tongue slipping,

I fall, sprawling

prone flat.

Obese chickens

not flying; neither

are fat children.

Life’s ending—

so?

death beginning.

Shoes grasping feet under eyes;

night-watching—

winking stars cheered.