Surely this is a swolen gland of memory Cursing through my body Pinching where I’ve been hurt before.
Should I starve you out? Let you waste away like autumn flowers Suffocating upon the bed you’ve made?
A cry from depths of my unconscious being Let out like lightning bolts Surging through my veins in callous blood clotting.
I hold the reigns, but I do not have this beast tamed, Wild and friggart he still is An uncouth I have yet to name.
I shall sweat you out Heat driving mad, boiling away impurities With a flame I have stoked ever higher Designed to inhibit boulders That this dungeon was built upon.
I am immense And stuck And broken in my battle; Giants tearing trees And Titans throwing boulders.
How do I convey my meanings When I am unreasonable Living inside a dream Of everyone’s meaning well.
Does my habit become your habit? Do I lose myself into you? Does my soil sprout many plants? Can I hope to grow with you?
For my beast of rage Within my deep breaths Is evermore, everclear, And hoping for more tomorrow For my heart fights back My heart fights for freedom In a change That cannot grow faithfully To the slave of a great wrong.
I’m interested, like the moon is interested in a ruksack.
Take me home, take me there, I want to see where you were made. And I’ll bring my spare tire so I don’t get stuck along the way, because I know a Legend of Boulders that weigh the most upon the road.
But after twilight, after my omnipotent vision among Cassiopeia disperses with Sun’s warmth and glow, I’ll still be looking to the sky, watching for each bomb to blow, each shifting sliver of this silver moon as it orbits slight off of thirty one.
I’m interested. I want to hear the whistle, for without the whistle, I know not who treads there though I’ve heard the Legend told here.
We scowered fresh cut grass For uncovered rocks to pick Hidden boulders ‘midst the ruff Half sunken in disguise Some so deep, so gargantuan More than 5/6 buried hard That one must scratch and dig To get a good firm hold And then with all one’s greatest might Pull and pull some more So that at last A fissure developes Besides the edge of rock Back and forth some more one grinds Loosening up the stubborn stone Until at last, triumphantly Emergent from the ground!
There were five impressions there that day Two belonged to the Emperor King Child though he was, vast was his arm One belonged to the lady tea dealer Powdered face and blood red kimono Shimada and the Golden Lotus Black trim like a bleeding matchbox The fourth belonged to the fat man Hojiju Business tycoon but despicable patron Beard so long it caught fallen crumbs A neck so indulged it sweat on its own A stomach sized so large it was custom made His breath so grotesque nearby flowers wilted
And the fifth, sigh.. the fifth Well, the fifth is a story Designed for only respectable ears Those ears entirely ready to be cured To be enlightened upon a new journey Through and over finer paths in life Along shallow waters edge Where the spring tips of sakura blood Flutter in the wind to float on away
The fifth is a story of love and then lost A heart that danced so lightly on lilies In the sweet summers pond, so lively with life A story of silent bicycles rolling through Low hanging lanes of public parks Along delightful gardens intricately cared for Dazzling with brilliant colors Like a van Gogh day lit dream
And when love effects them When love finds it’s sacred ground amongst Great boulder rocks and tiny bonsai When love settles the folds of a deep blue kimono Flushing the face free of all blood With tender thoughts of a young brides countenance Then, at that moment is when the fifth enters Along with its strong jawed suitor In new business formal
But it wasn’t there that the fifth stopped its journey A sleek rickshaw and a sturdy set of legs Cobbly streets and dimly lit alleys Hushed movements behind closed rice paper dividers And sandals displayed in all sorts of hurry Emotions rolling down the window like raindrops in the night Comforting morning departures, comforting silence Comforting ebb and flow, engagement Rolling through like smoke From a freshly extinguished candle Escaping out through ill-fitting woodwork Of ancient architecture And passing through the heart of a lamenting maiden Deep amongst the last haiku Beside tokens with memories Beneath bamboo thatched covers Protected by fine silken layers
Here lies the fifth Forbidden from all eyes but two Forbidden from all hearts but one Forbidden from all souls but one Forbidden and almost forgotten But sacred, and coveted And lost
