Thoughts of the Abandoned

Thoughts of the Abandoned

Based on tweets posted March 27, 2011, later published as Pebbles of Poetry, Part 9.

dark dark     a pitch-dark night without any moon

on the other side         of a burned globe

there are murmuring oceans     power stations     and the dark

on the other side     of a paper mâché earth

there’s an abandoned town     paa paa     it’s a pitch-dark night without any moon

nothing but spinning round and round     darkness seeks darkness

this time, the darkness is spinning the earth     while the abandoned wander in the dark

cows     dogs     horses     cats     people

a pheasant with her sharp high-pitched cry     is calling

darkness     rejects the night

still working     on a metaphor for death

this perception of time     right now     throw a wrench into the plutonium

terror     madness     realms of hell

one minute late     the dark doesn’t buy into the dream     of a self-sustaining nuclear chain reaction

becoming the dark     the water bug snickers     trying not to laugh

in the dark     becoming the dark     calling up their memories     of being abandoned

houses     dogs     cats     sandals     bicycles

the darkness won’t give in to darkness     today somewhere

bickering begins     screaming continues     this town

this windless shoreline     tries to go on after being abandoned

an electric pole asks itself     what should I do now?

in the dark     a village of pheasants collapses again indifferently

after eating well all season     the pheasants were shot one by one     long fingers bent

the abandoned shrug their shoulders     the birds should have cried

dark dark     a pitch-dark night without any moon

in the darkness     a whaling ship crosses the night

at the very bottom of the hull     a camel collapsed and died and wasn’t ever born

its soul reincarnated into a novice pitcher     his fist clenching a baseball

asking what should I do now?     dark dark     a pitch-dark night without any moon

dark clouds cover the fireflies     exposing them to black rain     full of radiation

grief grieves for grief     anger gets angry with anger

despair abuses despair     a magnet shattered to bits somewhere in the dark

a little sparrow bites at the pieces     dark dark     a pitch-dark night without any moon

in the darkness     a globe is spinning     from shadow to shadow     from the earth’s interior

to the Milky Way     governed by the rules of rotation     does the earth understand these limits

dark dark     a pitch-dark night without any moon

the power plant goes ahead     resuming operations

do you know salmon jump in the darkness     carrying their eggs upriver to spawn

do you know   how they live forever     how they die in spring

dark dark     a pitch-dark night without any moon     a hundred million tiny eggs

buried in the belly of the earth     they will all be forgotten

at night, I can’t sleep thinking about who to blame     the power within an atom

continues spinning     within even the smallest crustacean     on the other side

of the world     in a house in a small village near a window     dark dark     without any moon

a reporter offers a cheap critique, takes a piss, and sleeps soundly

to cite the collapse of a village of pheasants

there’s no mistaking it     I become an allegory of myself

to say it another way     you are your own personification

surely, the world is a metaphor for the world

the bus with the stuffed pheasants and the abandoned people continues forward

into the darkness     which reveals nothing but the bleak desperation

of the world we keep running toward

filled with the thoughts of the abandoned

the calm of the darkness doesn’t diminish the silence

only the fear in the voices that stayed behind

if I ask     the darkness for evidence     the darkness, absolute darkness     answers with nothing

nothing but a terrified silence within all the talking and chatter

completely unexpectedly  the darkness wakes up

in dark from the dark     she lifts her face and continues pulling out a back molar

I think that’s the Lotus Sutra

playing over the PA system of this abandoned town

waking up     astonished by the endless darkness

all kinds of people quietly forming an orderly line

no one breaks the rules

this line of the abandoned goes on and on

while everything’s still hiding within the darkness

arrrrr the darkness moans

and continues to berate itself

the footsteps of the abandoned are surrounded by darkness

it’s forbidden to follow them, not even a little bit

what to do about the ant crawling inside my ear

everything is still hiding within the darkness     darkness doesn’t know the darkness

for the adandoned     it’s futile     nothing comes from their innocence or selflessness

dark dark     a pitch-dark night without any moon

the darkness is afraid of the darkness the darkness atones for the darkness

the darkness scoffs at the darkness     and when the darkness becomes the darkness

does the darkness do nothing but climb the shadowed north slope

standing in line

how far does it stretch     the abandoned in line with their eyes open

oh     they can also screen the darkness for toxins

dark dark     a pitch-dark night without any moon

dark dark     a pitch-dark night without any moon

that sounds like the Lotus Sutra

playing over the PA system of this abandoned town

dark dark     a pitch-dark night without any moon

From Hairoshihen (Decommissioned Poetry) Tokyo: Shichosha, 2013.

Image by Antonio Carrau.