3.9.08 Yamatogawa

9/10ths closed,
an eyelid hangs in the sky.
Beneath this, I find my tower of
improvisation. Rising up
from mounded earthwork
and girded concrete, the steel diamonds
and crosses of inspiration.

Carry power. Carry voices.

Kaoru Abe's screaming
whispers of suicidal exhalations,
as though to live
in search of living
against so many edges
injects an ethic
of aesthetic self slaughter.

How much water runs by me:
so silent, a flutter of a fish fin
makes the city faint;
so long, the river reaches back
10,000 years.

Beyond names and symbols.
Beyond beyonds beyond.
I lie on this filthy levee and stare
at a blue so vast it fills my eyes.



by Jerry Gordon
3.9.08 Yamatogawa
Kaoru Abe