shikoku

i told the angel
(when she asked)
that time was a lie

because i saw neither beginning nor end to myself
nothing but colors

nothing but light—fall asleep on a couch in swem
the time i spent all night
writing about the japanese five years ago

it might as well be yesterday,
i did not change—
woke and it was winter on the land,
dour southern february grey—

(stay up all night sometime, and
you will see, the garment has no seam—

that’s
the way you know)

i think and
there i am, no memory—

i have no memories, i told
her straight.

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