writing process – Seven Hundred Jisei

Untitled Poem #12

I think about you always,
Although we’ll never meet,
And yet in only thinking
I find we are complete.

I think about you always,
And wish that I was yours,
But strange how in the thinking
We’re kept on different shores.

642.

Should I write poems
I write for you. Ego’s old,
Selflessness is new.

641.

Fire eternal, yes,
Criminals burn cars, flames high.
People on tv.

I became a shell of myself,
The fleshed gourdy organs
In time all moved out.

I was missed on your beaches
By the gulls and the fleet,
The tides could not reach

Nor know in my life
The beauty of self.
Others collected

For vases back home;
I am still here,
Cold shell and alone.

638.

Berry head, red head,
Sometimes the far too long dead
Are less than we thought.

631.

I said, my master,
I did not write much today.
Quiet, she walked away.

630.

Behind my good eye
A typewriter, font and ink.
I think I should write.

611.

I want for nothing
But you, and yet in the wanting
A cave fell through.

612.

Samurai’s master
Said: ‘when writing, avoid I‘.
In love, in war, too.

613.

My higher cloud self
Encouraged me in this way,
But I failed them both.

559.

I love it when you
Like what I do, just as this
Samurai loves you.

My barren mind will oftentimes
Grasp for levelled words,
Its fallow field’s infertile,
Dreams dissolved to dirt.

I’d try to shake myself awake
Like thorns within a curse;
Letters in life’s word-game rattle,
A rib-cage emptied verbs.

Unpaid workers dug a hole,
They formed a pile of earth;
They bound me to a bloodied pole
Not far from my place of birth.

I did not even question how
These trap doors are not doors;
A lever, flattened oak-wood opened,
As out my soul then poured.