Awakening in Japan
I think
back to
japan
the little
lovers
there,
seeing them
open
their souls
along the
hinode pier,
and freely
give a
loose candle,
losing
its way
in the
careen of
sumida river
deep gorges,
lighting
a path
of no
return,
near terrains
where trains
come to
reunite a
rail of longing
slant faces,
long silky
black hair,
the women
how they
stand
loyal
to their
man,
like tea,
noodles
and rice
in matrimony,
I paid
a visit
that once
was, saw
a couple
under a
magnolia tree,
where the
birth of
a bird
was taking
place,
a blue
stone
eggshell,
that cracked
like ancient
porcelain
dolls face,
before a
songbird
carried
a tune
into
the flaming
sun.
I return
to my spouse
back in
boston,
disappearing
completely
in the
heavy
curtains
as my
car pulls
up,
her face
dark
and
busted
in the
living room
window,
where
we sit
ironically,
remotely
dead to
each other,
before
a television
that always
blows smoke,
and
a candle
that lost
its flame
years ago.
|
Sometimes It’s a Miracle
whip and sliced
tomato sandwiches
to get us through
for the night,
I go to bed hungry
staring into
the dead dark,
tossing what little
beliefs I carried
during the day,
to get me through
a house of hope,
but for the most
part its watching
the clock wind
itself back to one,
without the wonder
that everybody
wants to be in that
perfect position,
knowing well the
bills will still be there,
mortgage not disappear,
the kids
wearing clothes
one
size down,
the crumbs ants come
and confiscate off
the kitchen floor,
another resume sent
out to some employer
that never
returns an answer,
as I lay
the facts down
a mile long road,
the lies
from the door
of my house
and into the loss,
I drive through
looking for
someone
to blame, take
the name of remorse
from off my shoulder,
but everyone
carries their own
burden, like a cross
on the back
of jesus,
teaching me
endurance
is the only
thing to
hang onto,
as my car
quickly
burns up gas,
approaching
a dead-end road.
|
Where Father Had Drowned
To all the many wishes
I cast to the sea, all the forgotten yarns
of history, unraveled
lay spread on the bottom seabed.
Sandglass footprints of who
he was sunk along the shore,
billions of stars etch the pebbles
that went footloose.
The fishermen yachts ten yards away
cast their hooks and catch nothing
but colds and lost dreams in brine webs.
My father fit in with his troubles
as he cast his fishwife to the abysmal chill-
his soul strung in the curls of water
and tangled in hairs of seaweed.
Captain Morgan's Spiced Rum in a brown
paper bag was a favorite, when down
and done he’d cast the bagged bottle to the
black blanket sea of an SOS seeking tutelage.
His messages floated to shipwreck.
Desperate years trodden along the pier,
he chose a beautiful scenic view to wash
away the chronic depression of his life-
I wished my father a lifeboat,
and clear water to subdue in.
I tossed my cents apologizing
for being a born burden to you
and my mother you couldn’t control,
when the coins twirled at random, aimlessly
spinning a silver glitter to the bottom
before getting lost to the murk,
irretrievable.
|
Ten Floors Up
i wanted you to be there,
when i awoke that morning,
but you left before dawn
could make its impression,
i wished you could have seen
the sun rise,
like a promising light bulb
over a desperate-gloom town,
high in the altitude of heaven,
the hotel room
coming to life
ten floors up,
your side of the bed
messed with loose
long hair, dry sweat
and fading sweet perfume;
should have stayed
if not for me,
then for the moment.
|
