Pure dark, pitch black
The night drops deep As does the twilight. People soughting to sleep In the city full of neon lights Pure dark, pitch black Beyond the wall of realities, Lies bitterness and despair Dim dreams granted from sentimentality dead ends everywhere. Pure dark, pitch black Parade of cars, smog spotlight Fanfare of horn, colors hypnotize Can’t take the haze nor stand the daze Gaze into the maze, completely razed. Gape the street light, trying to praise To the god who had left this place. Remains only Pure dark, pitch black
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Overhead lights
Undertoe, frog splashing Neon ripples Remnants of a postwar human frenzy Still casting shadows at the end of the night I stand here Usagi in the headlights In Omoide Yokocho Piss alley turned memory lane Isn’t drunkenness supposed to kill your memories - the ones the B29s couldn't? The city hangs overhead Searchlights evanesce Caricatured modernity envelops Showa movie sets The clash of light Too much to bear It would all be too easy To play the role of the drunken tengu In the backalleys of Shinjuku Hypnotized by the hanging masses, comforted by the steady hum Of postwar light fixtures and the underground thrum Eventually someone Will flatten this quadrant of space and time And I could lying drunk across this alley Arthur Dent on the Sumida Waiting to see who rusts first Pinpricks of towerlight tap my skull Worker bees still at it Keeping the city alight And irrelevance-free The modern still hasn’t punched out, don’t you know? |
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March 2019
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