Hiroshima- Kyoto

Why do I have such a comfort zone here
Perhaps it is my alien upbringing
The years of walking around
Feeling like the planet was not my own

People staring at you as if
There was asparagus growing out of your forehead
There must be more than the vague alcoholic rash
That calms me

The angle, the curves
The order in clutter
The attention to detail that
I often find lacking in my own performance

I carry just enough words in my pouch to get what I need,
Be polite and not be too much of a nuisance
Perhaps if I knew the language it would lose the charm…

When I tinker  around in my own thoughts
About what I would want to pursue in the future
Language is on the list
Spanish for the poets
Portuguese for the songwriters
Japanese for my curious soul
I can logic my way around the romance languages
But not the tongue of these islands

So as this adventure begins
I leave you birds to prowl the railroad tracks
Teenage girls with lurking rogue eyeshadow
And attendants hanging out the window holding on to their hats except when they wave good-bye to their co-workers on the platform holding rolled up red flags who will miss our view of the boardgame houses and paintbrush mountains…

This is no utopia
It’s just another screwed up place on this rock
But I like it.