January 2011
10 posts
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This Poem.
Little Sleep’s-Head Sprouting Hair In The Moonlight
learn, as you stand at this end of the bridge which arcs, from love, you think, into enduring love, learn to reach deeper into the sorrows to come – to touch the almost imaginary bones under the face, to hear under the laughter the wind crying across the black stones. Kiss the mouth which tells you, here, here is the world. This mouth. This...
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In Tokyo
Literally lost in translation.