In That Japanese Town Again
I was there, too.
Sipping on a medium mug
of American-bought green tea.
(But it's been steeped in for so long.)
But if you try to question
how bitter it tasted,
well, it is not that bitter
—in the greater scheme of things
(Tho', screaming, in my dreams:
"If the Japanese withstood
bombings from the skies
like no other,
then why can't they
go through this one?")
Theirs, once again,
are framed signatures,
like household items
in Kyoto; after funerals that
were faced with protests in the state;
Preservation at its best,
equally interinvolved with caveats
—a newer testament in the Eastern front?
So long, cultural values.
So long, moral values.
Farewell, spiritual values!
Unconventional Breakfast Rituals (American Norms)
Coffee
that's just so freshly
brewed—
none other than
by
yourself,
once you stood up—
self-driven
American
morns—or
silver afternoons,
a nice mug for it..
(or some type of vessel)
accompanied by one's favorite 90s
music lineup & something for
the ears,
(like determining unduly cast away earworms)
during
the last week of September
and for the months after—
..could be an enjoyable sip
(farther, once more, in our roundabouts)
—could be a nice start
thing theory
all are just these props
our heartbeats untranslated
iconoclasm
postmodern love (formerly, "our postmodern love")
loving through real love
as the plant life from the soil
they bring forth beauty
the deep forest of your heart
always seeming anthesis
apart from this type of menagerie
birds are singing songs
no one knew what they have meant
—pecking at mossed rocks