Bushwhacking along the deer trails around Himukai Jinja
minor routes emanating in all directions
"be careful Miki."
"daijob---bonk!"
down she goes.
Up past the buttress fortress hostess home of
a woman whose cold, black eyes
hide a colder, blacker soul.
"There's no there there."
Cross the bridge over an abandoned museum
built in the Gunkanjima school of
creeping vines and collapsing floors.
Bemoan the fate of curlicue waterslides
spiralling into bankrupcy and ruin.
Have we hiked into an Eliot poem?
In a purer land stands massive Agon-shu temples,
giving rise to kung fu chop socky illusions.
Climb the broad staired lair of evil Mr. Kwon,
whose bald headed minions fill the courtyard
holding a forest of spears.
We kick and spin and yelp and kick,
percussive symphony of
steel spearhead clangs
body cavity bass thump
woosh of sliced air
kiai fills.
Blue pajamas at the mercy of centrifugal force and gravity.
Hill of the Shogun reveals jagged-teeth cityscape,
forested slopes in filmatic glow
striped temple roof of yellow leaf and gray tile
lone orange maple defies the season.
Footfalls in black mud
down a mountain far older than man,
walking a trail used
by people when people were still people.
Leading to a 1200 year old city of
machines
with gears and teeth,
steam and breath,
RAM and hippocampus.
Yet we'll return to the mountains again
& a barked shin drawing blood
& a sudden cold wind raising goose flesh
& muscles screaming for lactic acid.
For it is in the failings of the body
Where we feel most human.
On the turntable: "African Angels"
On the nighttable: Kerouac/ Johnson, "Door Wide Open"
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