Saturday, 28 March 2009


Oike dori flashes past
as I ride sweating
fast to catch the train
Out of sight a dragonfly expires
beneath the weight of a journey that's unimportant
On Kiyamachi
My t-shirt wet I eye the
rat like yakuza
outside the whore house
I hate this street
for reasons of my own
Six drops of rain
threaten to ruin
my plans.
Deadlines and Dying attitudes
are killing me
I'm a victim at times
of my own hand.
Beneath my sweaty tits lies a broken heart.

How can you save a soul
that can't be reached
What can you do
but hold out your hand
or, just cut yourself free
and don't look back
into the eyes of another
doomed sailor