i do not believe
that the world
is the stain of blood
that rain
is the scream of coins
that my home
stands on stacks
of dead paper

please understand

i have to eat
like everyone else
but as i have leisure
to lament about
money and love
i apologize
for my privilege
which you may mistake
for my voice
laden with flimsy ideals
lightly simmered
in the tin cup
of spoiled youth

still
what truth i know
begs for my hands
to write hoarsely
and defiant
to slobber gobs
of messy life
onto the blank cheeks
of the undying
(all those who now
resemble death
and sell the scent of memory
for a few minutes more)
to let loose
this obsidian growl
in the ear of pale humanity:

even if you bury one thousand dreams
i will dream one thousand and one
of colors you've never seen
sowing them in the soil
of my only life
and watering them
with youth

do you see?
they will wear poetry
on their feet
their skipping,
blackredyellowbrownwhitefeet
sowing peace
where they meet the earth
and none of them
will dine on money
and none of them
will smell like hate

07/14/2007

Author's Note: i'm sorry.

Posted on 07/14/2007
Copyright © 2026 Peter Hsu