Walking City Metals

Red shout of sky,

Fat bowl half-full,

Mask-less cigarettes,

Smoke, asked for a lighter

Money, asked if the dollar is

real, in my eyes

real it is. 

Suddenly, rain, jumping

sunny-side, but walk

away, far away for

Night, cold brew

its just coffee. 

Warm waters, 

pools and ponds,

yellow 'oxidation'

around me,  so is the

smell. So is the

smoke. So is the rain

though the sun shines

clouds whistling bravely

departing quietly. 

I want to dress her up

in a seijin-shiki kimono

I want her to smile, that moment

high above, mountain above

but all I see and smell 

is the smoked sex -

crimped apron and meat smells.

"Give it back"

as I look down

that mountain was taller in my 

pictures, when I was younger,

and more foolish. All gone.

A memory. Nothing more.

Never again to be.