dolor core recede sanpo
Doomed to walk
heart broken as a
tooth against the
wind emotion comes
out by way of sound --
OVERCOME by laughter.
Gesture as slow sound
or waza-to spasm
throwing the rock in
the body is the sculpture
of the moment its parts
Any strong kanjo
feeds on itself:
thus inner prose.
Is danced out.
The body represents
you or you interpret
it nan ka this body's water
on hips or cracking
when I walk hands
on the round part liquid
layers so pulled transparent
as a finger.
Bald man in the orchid blue
dress of cunnilingus and
accordion paper twists his feet
as if his hands were
bound copper teeth suika
gums red eyes in white face
the pathos that follows ecstasy
sanpaku framed by make-believe
miniature elephants trumpet
the distance between two bodies.
Breeze a body makes moving
ruffles arm hairs slowly
discovering the space before as
feet soak up the sordid
history of floor and guys
in black kimono are the past
trying to suppress
the red moth gorilla girl sound
of the moon ... cello.
Awaking thought "meadows"
and how to input all non-human
knowledge (mono no aware) , the extra
verb a giant thumb, roundish holes
in faces and wet hair in there it filters
stuff out(the sparrows) . Fibers. Glitter.
Adult life is a) revenge
b) redemption. What were
we first deemed? Creep.
Cruise. . . trying
to remember. Kasai's
red silk curtain, the sweaty
prow mermaid. Ono's
heavy mother sun.
Begin the dance legs bent, arms in two
and idiot blinking radical and
coming out slowly (koto... glossolalia:
burning up) afterwards.
Hijikata eats a watermelon: Hijikata ATE
a watermelon (nuclear war). It stained his kimono.
He's swayed his vagina-painted back --
and taken a hammer to the shoji.
(If I had a body, I'd hammer
in the morning. Gold. Fringed.
Strapped-on. If I had a lighter ... his fierce
gaze. Now far away. Inside, the ticking.
If I had a timer... I love... subjectivity
e.g. my pain, my face, my parents,
my country, my death, and so on)
Then us, moving, alive
in this paper room"together". Separated by paper.
Somewhere you're reading this
in your sand voice (uchu no oto --
constantly transmitted sounds of Bach
the outlines of a man and woman wave to).
Hello. "I'm" (pitch, morning dew, sake, nothing)
the roaring sound
of the universe. Call me Nada.
Walking from the back of the room
alongside two "others" -- pressure of ball
of "foot", slow slide toward "heel",
then the other foot. Sinking
as in deep mud, or snow. "Arms"
rise centrifugally from my sides
and "hands" meet the moisture of my
"neighbors'"hands. Atatakai ne.....
Moisture a body drinks
the life that led me back to water oily
basic crouching as a shiny spoon.
(Stomach acids we come with, and yeast
helps us decay. A ferment of emotion as in yeast.
White froth at the corner of a mouth.
Or Iwana's long golden chain of hanamizu.
The tolerated smells of children.)
Today I was released -- everyone a walkingnape
flower -- the dumb gargoyle and the white
butterfly's black wing spot. Mind back at
square one. Four dancing in a revolving square.
Finally free of imagination
I store a cherry
in each cheek
The perspective of me
like western mushrooms
Do you smell tadpoles here?