Not because we know any better

    and not because
    there is enough politics
    in the colour of flesh
    to last a lifetime

    even though silence
    is also a stain, and we’d
    rather breed questions
    than children

    how many
    of our days and nights
    squandered, bidding for
    this quiet attention
    to what could be

    already we ask too much
    for permission, when we are not
    the ones who need forgiveness

    so much has already
    been lost, and we are only
    just beginning to bleed

    so not because verse has no future
    film budgets are miniscule,
    we have no stamina for prose
    far too many people
    will never actually read this

    since words have their own
    particular lust, respawning
    in the least expected places

    despite the imperfectability of joy
    the transience of skyline,
    and the persistence of hope

    since it didn't do anything
    having come this far
    made nothing happen

    let this poem be.

30 August 2001   12:44 hours
haikus for chee soon juan { } haikus of silence