Haiku #483

Soul, a screaming pond.

Struggling for a way out,

—How am I not George

Everyday I wake up with a tinge of fear that it may be my last simply because my skin remembers the long history of insensibility—it, my skin, has been an excusable causality for unjustified violence…



a river rushing

to fullness

Born full of void

each encounter

love and joy

countered with pain

and it’s undoing

like poems falling

from trees in autumn

swept away with

promises of returning

filled with scars

In the undoing

love remains

A river rushing

to a glass half-filled

part everything

part nothing