Article 4

4 U
your island refused me, though I
     pray for it, your dancers
        now in darkness, your

   musicians, inaccessible, yr. poets
      roam w. love oozing fr. 
           their toenails but

      they can't find their way 
      to a favorite cafe, their
          time is UP. yr.

   island has been desiccated, was
       it my fault, did I drop those
          bombs, or create the

   so called earthquake, 100,000
  times more powerful & more lethal.
     through whose disgrace did

       I come to you? Last night
    cured in cafe by distant saint, he says 
       I'll siphon out the poison

& he does, pain & perjury,
          poison is my medicine 

      as  purified, I hit the road again,
          throwing pennies at yr.  
             outstretched hand 

           rest a moment, the sun 
               has risen in
                                yr.
                                   3rd eye,
11.3.2016  Tokyo