Chabako temae

 

You tear in to the house

A hurricane of malcontent

And of course I am in

Waiting for you

My little wooden box

A nuclear blast

The stench of him rolls behind you

Down the stairs

A bridal train

Wretched now, I come, I come

 

Hakobi Temae

 

Atoms are split as

Mitochondria dance as

They spit from the soup and

Epochs clatter as

You take the cups out and

I die four score and twenty as

The kettle clicks and

we begin the dissection

 

Obon Temae

 

It’s the way the steam

Puffs at your lenses

A morning on the moors

But hot

Somehow hot

And because of the mist

I do not see the tears until

They are beating at the bruises

On your cheeks – a rainy day

Spent sat in a car, racing the droplets

Down down down

Wind down the window

Hold up your fingers now

Catch the trees and the buildings and

Snap them in two

To somehow gain control

 

Ryurei

 

It tastes like peach

He says

But he is lying