March 19th, 2006
Chopin, harumaki, wine, and fantasy
droplets and leaves fluttering
lost and found in the evening wind
a harmony of petal and dust swirling around
in little jetties, as cat jumps down from the chair next to me
poor Caroline, crying and playing Chopin
alas, the song ended all too soon and my mood was struck
struck and beat, from jocund gaiety to chilling awareness
of the pain in my wrist and the rat-rat-
rattling of windowpanes
beams and trickling off again
a spring day and a winter night
far from the heat of the gas danbo
away, up spritely, up rickety stairs cat
runs, in leaps and bounds with the furry
tail bobbling after mischief and to see if anything
new has fallen from the kitchen counter where she cooks.
and me in my blissful solitude, blissful without
phones or wires or signals of any kind
only me in the home of a muse again
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how long has it been since we met last?
three years; three long years when I was
setting out to the place of your blood you hardly knew
then six storied months falling I was falling
falling through myself and breaking any branch
on the way down
tumbling into darkness black
tumbling through a rabbit hole into another
society from which I may never emerge
no, the languages and foods and customs that
cut me, scared me much more so than they should
until at the bottom of the glade I found my way
into another wood with mushrooms to eat.
wooden chairs and silken pillows
a palanquin of allure moving
just ahead through the crowd climbing
yet climbing upwards and ho,
to see the next ridge in peace
and tripping over waterfalls
slippery rocks in my path set
not by others but
by my own limitations
but Sundays always came and I was fed on omelets and rice
rolling around in blankets and cigarettes
running with you to catch a train
trains roll and sail here, on rails and through the air, through the fancied dreams of men crying for expression through the heart of a money pumping bear, through a place of civility and debauchery, a place I lost a few dollars.
as much as I damn myself the spring forgives me and a winter of bloodied knuckles and stained oxfords are washed away with the cherry blossoms. throwing one small yen at a time and wishing to treat fellow man, myself, with respect.
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winding up and down, making such careful strokes on paper, on paper, where things are cleaner and safe, things captured that I’ve longed to chase, for quite some time. around, swinging around, in a vacuum of impatience. so be patient, and let things come. let them come as they should on their own and stop trying to force so many flowers into bloom. if I were to only close my eyes, and let the reins go slack, so we could be one and another, together and as we should. as God intended, men not beasts destroying themselves but noble evolutionary things, majestic stags astride a briskly flowing stream of time. loops and curls, vines so ensnaring but nothing more than so many brushes, so much foliage to take in with the land. the land, the land that has taken me in.
I want to stop speaking of want, to only be and exude serenity. to weep the kind of emotion that is clean and beautiful in men, the kind that leads others to see themselves.
but life is fast paced, it is a rambling machine, gears and wheels long out of control, oh but a wild ride to clutch and to gasp before a crash.
and still, still quiet. still awash ahead of me, overtures of what one may become, preludes to the greatest unfinished things of all humanity. it’s dreams, cranberries, and fried, melted over crackers and honey, delicate stouts lined up for consumption like so many raw materials, refined in the minds of men to be something much more than just sugar heated with water, oh no.
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and the plates clattered upstairs, so softly, a time for me to think but not think behave but not behave, as we all should or would under any similar circumstances. I will overcome these weaknesses, they will be ironed and pressed, as shirts prepared by the cleaners for Sunday. for that’s the day I’ll assume to make so much of something out of nothing. something I’m quite famous for. for now, is nothing, but something.
haiku for iwamoto
falling grace over
did I win today? unknown.
God save me from hate.
the simplest pain
is often the most wonderful
please let me die here.
are you so alive?
I wish to be just like you
please tell me your dream.
thinking alone, you
your skin is so wonderful
I hope to be close.
