Tanka Prose
you keep writing the same poem disguised as different women, playing the same chords and phrases, flubbing the same shot?
suppose you kept entering the same dark echoing hall, anticipating the raptures of the deep and its flip, the music of the spheres and what you get is more longing and obsession, those places you can only live day by day, where you wonder if the past ever really happened and where even the most innocent moves can careen you head-on into your pretend life and its routine relationships—
what if only waking with the woman you’ve slept next to for years can save you, or so you think …
what if we’re just passing thru?
when
can I
unwind
your kimono
again