Boxers
These boxers drying on the line
kissed by a whisper
of young blossoms.
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Monday, January 14, 2019.
Leaving by train It’s that time of year to think about leaving. Excitement and fear incense the air and the train recedes round the bend in the glittering winter sunlight. Straight tracks. Another bend. My goal is always out of sight. And the wind whistles along the way. No one can say where I’m going. It's cold. Monday, December 31, 2018.
The X I won't mention her name. That name will never again pass my lips. I'd like to bring all manner of calamity and catastrophe down upon her head, her household, her family, and her dog. I still love her, though, in my special way. Monday, December 31, 2018.
Song of myself Dull, disobedient Unimportant, immoral Marginal, dirty Negligible, forgettable Bad, failure. Sunday, September 9, 2018.
The Strange Song Strange, strange, strange It’s the strangest things I’ve ever seen. It’s stranger than snow in June. Stranger than candles at noon. It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s stranger than a pet ferret, Stranger than my mem’ry of you. Strange, strange, strange. Stranger than a book made of ice, Stranger than a muttering man. It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen. Stranger than an unprosecuted crime, Stranger than a president made of mummified foreskins and cotton candy. Stranger, stranger than the strangest thing. Saturday, March 31, 2018.
Voices I drove into town this morning. I saw your house about half past 9. I took a picture of our voices in the wind, our voices louder than the swallowtail, whispering over the grass, rustling among the leaves, robbing the snow of its title to peace and quiet, our voices more fragrant than the first tulips of spring, our voices clinging to the rocks like moss, stronger than death, more permanent than this house. Saturday, December 16, 2017.
Chill morning, middle aged man bends in the sunlight to retrieve an autumn leaf from the pavement and put it in his pocket. Thursday, October 19, 2017.
Cinders Love turned to cinders in my mouth that still choke me 37-years later. I fell into the abyss of love and lost my redemption. |
AuthorI am a permanent foreign resident in Japan. I have no plan. I don't know what I'm doing. Archives
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