poetic fragments op. 39

Counting blue cars

“A Christ driving a blue car,”

My friend says.

Insane.

Insane as he is, he can count.

He has been counting blue cars
On a crossover bridge

Before a Lion’s apartment building

For quite a while.

Why blue?

Why cars?

Those are mysterious.

Yet blue cars are certainly running

On Route 6

And he’s insane…

Actually

I’m a Christ.

I went insane, resigned,

And my family broke up.

I have such genes like these.

Genes are the cross.

The cross is the cross

Only while human beings exist.

We make them the cross.

So many Christs today:

Counting blue cars.

poetic fragments op. 38

A road, not me

Robert Frost sang with a sigh,
“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.”

I’ve never been willing to

Take a road unlike him.

I’ve been always taken by a road

Which was not radiant in the least

But was under a bright evil star.

Hence

I have no regret paradoxically.

Taking or not taking a road

never has made me what I am.

From beginning to end,

There was not “me” but “a road.”

The road was
Grassy and in leaves.

It was both summer and winter.

Two roads diverged in a wood.

poetic fragments op. 37

Sunflowers

There is a space of sunflowers under the neon of pachinko.

They are spindly, but have small-sized beautiful yellow flowers.

Night sunflowers are also pretty good.

The rover is running about on the Mars.

It’s so good.

Terrans are rushing about on the earth.

Only the sunflowers’ space

Is faintly still.

The neon

Makes the moon far.

The pachinko,

Poetry far.

The cicadas,

A home far.

Terrans are also returning today.

Loneliness is to have the home

To get back to.

Sunflowers;

All they turn violently to the other side.

Being refused by the flowers,

Fukuichi, Fukuichi

Under the neon,

Is the way of cats.