The sky at 4:40 p.m. is the color of ashtray water,
Sulking over Tokyo, a city drenched in busy and banality.
A full but diminutive moon, shy in darkening night, is a pitiful sight
To a poet, and all but ignored on the whole.
Coffee-like stains on my teeth from breathing the commuter train air,
And boredom thick as mayonnaise -- rancid, yellow mayonnaise.
My gaze
Transfixed on the butts and ashes swimming in air: angels or embers of angels there
Streaming in the nicotine,
Caught in the urban dream,
Held in the heavens of invention.
Oh, moon, shine on me tonight,
Above the sea, above the night
Above Kamakura.
Roar your glow in deafening waves of light,
Shine, shine on me tonight!
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