To know yourself in the spectrums,
    as an individual in sync
You must become radical-
    ly trustworthy    We are guests
In everyone's outlet mall (traffic in the halls or none)
    You are left alone
In a mind field bleached with wagging lilies
    (mazing to no end)    You are, sometimes
A reaction to environment    And this performance
    I promise is not for life!
Like the bleak flesh and yearn we are
    (some of us run)
Out of options before the cutting-
    board—In your own
Dream, I imagine (as)
    a flash of marble blue seems you search
For what makes you up and I keep at
    the personal lyric
Not with a love for, but with a flinging out
    from my yuck! I
Don't care for I—Want a communal song
    spilling into the wild
October fields    This juvenile heart in spring feeling dumb,
    I am hunting
For want    You cannot contain the line of why
One should want I, I, I running through
                                                              (The dead wet grass)





was that i was born in Sapporo ('sup/olo)
then my father with individual will took we

to a-me-ri-ka, then recession 1, 2, a near 3rd hit
all financial recoveries are white lies!      go ahead you can take me

to the river, wash me in the water i just have no romantic love or affair
with my citizenships      my grandfather says never marry

beyond a border like your mother today just let me be
(free of you) America!      It's not all of me who has an oath to be other

yet without my mother's mother's emptied cache
we would have been under the bridge, mother reminds me

you know with the golden gate red      "eito~ B(u)road(o)way desho"
near The Pearl waterfront, the Willamette River      her bluest realist joke

my mother as grandmother as rescue as nation as collective will      echo pride
my home is as lineage and failure as working to chum currency

a life working under old money      she tells it all poppy
we were more Talking Head new wave      yoohooing

i'm on Hawthorne now instead, catch me in a Tokyo young boy
look      all these damn yt hipster anarchists hanging their

converse up switching to black PF flyers or martins collectively
would anyone know if i moshed in Dead P★p Stars aesthetic

i'm so damn far from any home always, i am so star
and we are so stardust      i'm looking at every safety net

dancing, dancing      kāsan, i'm so sorry i'm a poet
I, I, I—      you'll be working until you die