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/ / /
February storm
potato and red onion
in miso soup
poet, interviewer, musician, traveler
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/ / /
February storm
potato and red onion
in miso soup
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/ / /
Kinkaku-ji glows golden on my computer screen
illuminates a Japan-shaped hole in my heart
a class full of boys who’d never talked to girls
all but one fell in love with our tour guide
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the tree outside my window survived the new sidewalk
now its bare arms catch the falling snow
by the look of it, the tree was planted shortly after I was
so I will bare my arms, run outside, help it if I can
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NOTE: Today is the last official day of a river of stones, but I’m going to try to write one of these a day for all of 2011. Wish me luck!
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I am slipping downhill on a frozen sidewalk
windmilling my arms to keep from falling
tomorrow, this may all be different
the heart beats, the heart stops beating — that is change
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part of a river of stones
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like a dam breaking on high ground
water rushing into the city
when the people are ready
even the mightiest flee
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part of a river of stones
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there aren’t actually
just four walls here
but you get the idea
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part of a river of stones
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/ / /
apparently
the more useful skill
is to avoid placing oneself
in a position in which the receipt
of compassion
is necessary
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part of a river of stones
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/ / /
I dropped a stone into the well
listened for it to hit bottom
when I looked up, I realized
I was already at the bottom of the well
and the stone was headed straight for me
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part of a river of stones
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/ / /
can anyone explain to me
how I got here
and to whom I can apply
for an exit visa?
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part of a river of stones
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me
rug
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part of a river of stones
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This one was harder for me to write than yesterday’s and I’m a bit less certain that I’ve accurately conveyed the meaning.
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Miles Davis ã‚ “All Blues” ã‚’å¼¾ãã¾ã™
æ£ã—ã„考ãˆã§ã‚‚ç¾åœ¨ã®çŠ¶æ…‹ã‚ãã‚“ã‚ã«æ‚ªããªã„ã§ã™
Miles Davis plays “All Blues”
it’s the right idea but things aren’t that bad
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part of a river of stones
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/ / /
今日ã¯ä»–ã®æ—¥ã€…ã®ã‚ˆã†ã§ã™
ãŠèŒ¶ã‚’飲む
詩を書ã
音楽ã«èžã
å›ã«ã¤ã„ã¦è€ƒãˆã‚‹
today is like other days
I drink tea
I write a poem
I listen to music
I think of you
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part of a river of stones
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/ / /
I wake up to the clarinet and trombone
go to sleep to the cornet and saxophone
in between I feel the rhythm of the drum
as I wait for what’s coming to come
/ / /
part of a river of stones
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coconuts in a winter bus shelter
like finding snowballs on the beach in Maui
/ / /
part of a river of stones
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Fred Astaire is dancing
beneath the haunted building
while the make-believe Irishman
plays reels down below
/ / /
part of a river of stones
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