I am the king
of nearly all that you possess.
It’s ever and it’s ugly
and very often always a mess.
Sifting through the tasty,
disguising guns as flowers
and hollow dreams as property.
Or was it poverty,
something belched unto god with a bellows?
It’s hard to say,
time shifts and time mellows.
And I am asleep now at this table,
recalling my waking life in hearses,
smacking myself far away from, and into, the cradle.
Drill a joyful noise into, or unto,
the lord of cherry rubbish snacks,
a grave disappointment to
my cliché skull and its liquid heart attacks.
They’re all normal.
I sit here and take ‘em,
take them for all that I’m worth.
I’m not cuddly in that regard.
I work too little and
I work too hard.
(Pictures taken in this bar in Sanya, Minami-senju, Tokyo in April, 2012)