Forehead         WrinklesFrom         S               t                 r  ainingToList     e              n

Fo               r     H                        e     r            L                 i          tt                l            e 

G                  i    r                       l’         s          C                r           i                  e       s

I                 n     TheNight,       RoughHan       ds                F          r                    om

HoursOfGri      p                    p               i        n                g          Th                    e   

W               h     e                   e                 l       T                o          D                     r   

i                   v   e                  M                   e     T               o           S                     o       

c                  c    e                 r                      G      a           m            e                      s,

AndStrongAr     msFromCarrying                          MeToB               e                     d. 

I believed you.

Accepted your view as true.

Ignored me to make you happy.

Couldn't please you.

I failed for you. 

And you treated me crappy.

Regret is an act of assessment:

Probe the depth of the sin,

Measure it,

Weigh it against all other transgressions,

To conclude you are undeserving

Of even your own sympathy.

i glance over at the stoplight and see them laughing

a mother and her son

she is at the point of happy tears flowing

she rubs his back

he is smiling endlessly

and they have love

i see two people dancing

in the club at midnight

they found solace on the slick floor

i'm not sure that they know each other

but i'm sure they will fall in love

i see a man

perhaps around 80

opening the door for his lady

and she smiles and kisses his cheek

and they are in love

for many years, i think

Sitting dockside holding your Corona as the blaze of the Kentucky sun sets above us.

Casting colors of Pinks and blues and grays against humidity of the approaching night.

You're smiling up at me from the darkened water. Brown eyes deep and drunk. your tanned skin a stark contrast to the color of your faux blonde hair; heightening the highlights. Wet and warm.

I take a sip of Corona and lean back. I breathe in the scent of the lake and peace.

This is Summertime. This is a Kentucky Summer. Beer on ice, dockside with you smiling at me from the water naked and exposed.

In Tokyo my eyes confused the flashing lights of Shibuya

For fallen stars, dancing upon billboards, mingling atop skyscrapers

Men in suits sit neatly in a row aboard the metro, waiting waiting waiting

To go somewhere important.

I eat a pancake, piping hot, in it there are onions, chives, cheese, salad and pork

Almost as jumbled and colourful as Harujuku, and not quite as tasty

As the raw fish in salty soy sauce served in Tsukiji, eating eating eating

To sustain life in this city.

But what is more poignant than the irony

Of a bullet train, boldly jetting past Fuji, taunting the mountain gods

Leaving only moving pictures in the window, rushing rushing rushing

To go where even the river waltzes like a teenage girl in love.

Here the air is delicate, like local deserts that subtly enchant the tongue

The leaves are bright green, and when the sun shines they glisten like stained glass

In Tokyo one feels awe every turn, here one is always just looking looking looking

Out for the small, hidden magic of every street.

Summer in Kyoto is the bliss of dipping sore feet in cool water

It is the green hills, adorning their leafy gowns and standing like proud lords

Showing their wealth and glory to all that pass, giving giving giving

A show of majesty no traveller can resist.

It is the modest delight of fresh mochi, sticky and melty on the tongue

The quiet hum of golden temples, the courteous serving of very warm tea

Climbing up the slopes of Arashiyama to find a valley that is singing singing singing

A song of peace and serenity.