Grave Watchman

It is spring fragrant flowers are blooming all over the area an unseasonable
wind is blowing in the blue sky
under a high flying lark, a sea of yellow vegetable flowers
trembling in the wind, a wave noticeable rolls, and a white man appeared
he has birdlime and draws near with a light gait
his feet came to a dead stop flying dust a lark in the sky and the vegetable
flowers also fell silent
it is as if it is a picture the man’s eyes stare off yonder
rather if you look closely he is looking at a certain spot
it is a bird’s nest taking care not to be noticed, he advanced two steps
there is a bird’s nest in the top of the tall trees he is just looking at it
the color the chirping of the chicks the sweet grandness
it is as if he has been possessed by a demon
he carefully studies each individual feather even the down also the color of
the beak
like a child that has gone out to capture cicadas and rather been captured by
the thing that looks in the mirror is an empty shell, reality is the thing that
there is nothing in the man’s eyes now but nest
the chick that is screaming under a stone is a high flying secret
the nest is reflected in his eyes rather, kin his eyes the nest is complete
furthermore, in his head, his head is filled to the brim with the nest
it is Bosch he is truly hopeless


Mikami, Kayo. Body as Receptacle: An Approach to the Technique of Ankoku Buto. Tokyo: ANZ-Do, 1993. Page 188-189.
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