Truth [not a haiku]

truth—a fruit so sweet

Should never be withheld until it is profitable

water in a desert—truth!

The dying need the truth

If I am going to heaven let it not be on a bed of lies

And if to hell—there I will need more truth to wipe my brow

Let me panic—at least I will breathe a little


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…