Dango

Little B

Little B went out one day,
just a prince on his father`s land,
elephants dressed rich with brocade
in the sun`s swelter, a perfectly
spoiled little boy who contemplated death
because of his mothers` own which he imagined
all the more vividly because he was only 7 when
it happened, 7 days, crying for the tit he never
suckled and the round of the tummy never nuzzled
the riches and spices from new lands
just a way of allaying fears, hand to mouth, digestion
the sparrow speared the worm with its beak
then hopped away.

Try

there never will be posterity, things are heating up
we are splitting things which should not be split
creating reactions much larger than we imagined
from small, cold things

there will be no prize for the winners, only suffering,
success in replicating reactions on the sun
may turn our thin surface into a molten golden casket,
these things have been foretold

let us go then you and I and love until there is
no lie, and take each kiss from life`s firm grip
and place it on our lips, to try.

Treeline Limits

the mountain skiier goes into the crags
and feels the pull and all the perfect white
because he can, I suppose

the poet who wanders the peaks above
meandering rivers and treeline limits,
any other way would feel like cheating

practicing scales and chords until they become rote,
switching tacks, yeah just for the hell of it,
so long as we don`t rely on words or notes
we can take life only at its peak and transmute it
as those below begin trudges towards
peaks and valleys of their own, tinged red

oh I`ll sail I hope and seeing the horizon line
let gravity do the work, take me back to the fold.

Napclub Annual Membership Drive

The pool balls are all cued up, you`ve learned all the angles but your hands are shaking, what to do? When the things beyond your control hover like black shrouds on the edge and cause an aching loss of vision, goal in sight

take a nap, yeah a genuine A-rated armchair snooze, don`t even think of getting up for anything more pressing than a canned beverage, cross all the wires and hide the remotes, bury all hatchets, man the decks, sweet isles of nectar laden dreams ahead

(an ode to) pissing where I like

I forget the moment the idea
that pissing where I liked was a sign
of general health occured,
was it on the long walks up the hilly stairs
I do believe I pissed off into
the bushes a few times and enjoyed it...
but conscious?, no I was probably thinking
more of the girls my heart
would somehow guide me to
If I could stop thinking

There was the parking lot downtown
late in university days,
with Chris, fellow philosopher and bespectacled
lover of the mountains, egging me on to piss
next to the Volvos and Hondas that were fast
replacing the VW camper vans,
I do believe I did realize at that time
how much I valued pissing where I liked,
and all the associated freedoms

In retrospect not the most positive
manifestation of my urge to pee,
at that time discovering
the surly side of drunkeness, treading lightly
in the waters that probably consumed my
paternal father and grandfather

Moving to Japan there was
an undercurrent fear that the houses
would be so tightly packed
there would be no handy place to piss, and unleash
all that which is most native in me

Reassured then, when I saw an old man
in broad daylight, not far from a busy station,
facing the train track`s supporting trestle
letting out a long golden stream as if from a hose,
no homeless bum, he--
this slightly senile grandfather

And having seen this repeated
more times than I can count
I conclude that the male perogative to piss
is one that becomes all the more strongly defined
the more hemmed in one is

Oh beautiful though short lived stream I let out
like a baby in the tub just a few minutes past,
I swear by all that is holy, wild and thus unruly
you shall not be the last.

Unity

Shinto-Buddhism encourages social order
not moral responsibility
and that`s fine as far as it goes

If no one saw it happen, why then
it`s as if it never happened
you are absolved

absolution as a given that may only be undone
by words from an accuser, or by whispers

though it`s a pool shattered into sects and
hidden roots to mirror the folds of Japan`s mountains perhaps

the onus is on social harmony;
As long as we`re party to it together
our family, our corporation
Let us say it never happened

And if you say it did
you`d better have your group together
speaking tightly with resolve
and unconditional fighting spirit;
blood will be drawn

I have never had a religious conversion discussion
with the fervent or pious here,
as one is apt to in the states

To become Buddhist would be to join his family
and would in some sense bind me
to the thousand hidden strings which control
a person`s actions as he moves through life

For the sake of old age and his ancestors` honor,
for the sake of future generations

Would he really give that to me
and could I really take it?

Important as Doubt (lyric)

Cadance is a virtue, it`s the thing that makes us tick
if we move our magic markers we can teach the world to
sit a while and ponder choices
and come to another view
that if you press it bends a little as it saunters out of view

I take it back
I dont know why, I`ve changed my tack
If I cry
remember times I wiped your eyes
and if I doubt
remember times we were caught out

Reputation lives along a long and a winding vine
that rather sooner than expected
bears a sour wine
and lives amidst a bramble
through a thick skin peering out
and forgets the young must strive
and most importantly to doubt

It`s my choice
If I will bide my time and doubt
A call to arms
would leave us stranded and worn out.

Interests

It`s amazing how quickly interests can change
tonight it began to rain heavy, a squall
that drenched Tokyo and neighboring Chiba
usually no big deal--a drag biking home yes
but manageable in still humid early September
when the force of the rain is countered by
comfort of temperature.

Yet no ordinary rain, last night lightning had been close
cracking overhead with such force and immediacy
I`d never experienced, hard slaps of thunder
rattling among the heavy downpour.
Leaving my school, walking the steps of the station
the next evening, an ominous repeat of last nights fury.

What usually seems like a hassle, riding for
twenty five minutes in the rain,
through the long flat of rice fields, then up a wooded hill
clothes and shoes to be dried after,
now edged a prickly heat on my neck.

Lightning cracking through the rain as I rode
my yellow shopping bike slowly
through shallow new lakes,
umbrella held overhead,
plotting a route with the care of a general
in minefield France,
there`s a tree, a street lamp, a tall sign,
beeline to it, scan the horizon, charge
desperate questions that had never occured before,
new interests

Does metal attract electricity? remembering
Ben Franklin`s key attached to a kite,
why a key? wouldn`t a branch have worked---
conduction, conduction was the key! not attraction
trees are the same as power towers to
the gods of lightning, yet not 100% sure on that,
anyway I`m moving albeit slowly through the
flood, not enough time for ions to collect
CRACK BOOM!

the scent of fear, hair raised
and cycling still I can feel the heaviness of the static
charged air, the unstable ions lancing out from my umbrella
trying to forge a path of pure white heat to the heavens.

Dischord Aesthetics

A city on the make, Thais with their customary smiles
a little tighter, determined to have their piece
despite the sun and brain corroding tuk-tuk fumes
Ignoring the sharp tang of sewer downtown at night.

Who can deny the right to play in spacious
tokyo-gilt shopping malls, live large on credit
create one massive traffic sprawl,
ignoring the needs of unfortunates
who venture outside?

Basic Zen-thought emerging...
if the interior is fine and sealed does the chaos of the
outside matter or even exist? Lacking conrol over
certain tendencies of society can we add chaos to chaos
and float inside the storm center?

Fresh from Tokyo the company recruit walks in his
black suit next to a sempai, uncomfortably overdressed
yet somehow savoring the green, unlike home
a city dotted with spaces where frogs croak and cicadas chirp.
As his sempai describes intricate plans he nods the required agreement.

Is it really... ? well, yes his boss seems so sure
and his thoughts turn to summer bonus.

Yes, it's perfect for building large boxes.

koan of the drunken poets

Keroac and Whitman meet in a bar in Japan... mama-chan asks `what can I get you?` `None of those tentacled things`, says K. `out of a drunken midnite Hokusai scrawl`, `and some peanuts` adds W.