It is night and one is expecting a visitor. Suddenly one is startled by the sound
of raindrops, which the wind blows against the shutters.
five limbs splayed, naked starfish on the beach pointing porous legs, dangling on
edge of utilitarian bed, the door's wide shut, light slices hinges like a Victorian lock
and a dangling key. Like a lock of curled blonde hair in a loch her weight sinks deep. Head, heavy weight more than pillow can hold, can huddle in blankets to chase Colorado chill mountain cold, lightning heard through Venetian blinds, brief rupture of sound, unwritten sky- mine the stripped unconscious, hoary, nameless trees filled in shadow and high noon light, a dream of menstruation in drops against porcelain basin- it's
all written in the night
of what make's one's heart beat faster- Shinobu in Shiseido red, oriental silk and
ankle baring heels, a slit in the dress like a banana peeled- in Chinatown they pluck their eyebrows and purse their lips, Gucci, Prada, Vuitton sway side by side, the crux of pointed elbow into side- pedestrians jostle and huddle by- green tea and pork gyoza
to buy- Arigato Gozaimashita, Irashimase! Nasal salutations assault and pierce the humidity, listless sky
he dripped sweat, severed neck with the crack of bone- waterlogged and dredged rotting from the Ganges for skull to sip from. Hair piled high on head and sometimes tethered to cave wall- the stench is said to be unbearable and rods and cones multiplied- perceptible perception of two wives- one short worn, Nepalese, a shared life and the other tall white thighs, lotus and vajra joined, Buddha and Buddha wife
never seen a hungry ghost outside the mind with a narrow throat and bulging eyes,
but offering bowls of tsok blessed cookies, incense, water and rice sit in a copper line
of candlelight- appease underworld belly, quivering plight
traverse flesh- surface of a cratered, shadowed moon- and hoary carapaces of skin,
the kimono conceals. Grey clouds of billowing smoke, have a half life- dividing- bento
of peas turned to lead and Kanon, melted goddess of mercy there's a history written in the flesh.
