On the Nankai Train to Tannowa

My subtle fantasy of lasting
beyond the bubble-burst of this thought
flash.

My straw hat of these last
three years is woven
of a certain number of stalks
that grew from a certain green landscape.
Their history is now part of keeping these
particles from the sun from
hitting my face. Their distant
seeds contribute to me--
today--
looking like a dork.

Toward the middle of this train car,
a man in pink socks beats his chest
and maintains an angry soliloquy.
The rip-rapping rhythm
of his babbling chant reminds me
of my urgent drumming this morning,
of the cymbal riding the crossing stamps
the snare and bass put on the moments.



jerry gordon
8.18.08