foreign ficciones
make me forget I was painting you
and back to every sea that I’ve sailed
I’m forever carried toward and away from you
japan. from the lush hills of my california soul
where pigments bleed across highway valleys,
we’ve been siting here for 40 damn hours
still fixed on this watercolor painting
its features more abstract, making me
I’m tired, I’m tied and it’s old
soon the war is starting,
a flute tickles
the edge of my neck
in japan. we sing to you,
dear samurai, i apologize. . .
the war had turned us all crooked
we couldn’t see what we’d lost
and like those crooked angels
we’ve got a long way to go
its something else to
help me forget about you
and your sea green eyes
echoing sounds of the shores
echoing dark days are here
it’s the same sounds that
always calm me down,
transform me
as transparent as
the ghosts of hiroshima,
echoing mute watery sounds
sounds that calm our ancestors
sounds heard only by the
ghosts of california
they say,
we’re tired
now