Recently completed Mishima's The Temple of the Golden Pavilion, translated by Ivan Morris: Tremendous stuff, the interlacing of creepy sex, obsessions, Rinzai Zen, architecture, in WWII and postwar occupied Japan... First thing by Mishima I've read, I think, since taking two courses in Japanese Literature from the late Professor Wolfe at UO, many moons past. I remember him discussing the film Mishima made of the short story "Patriotism."
Another poem of mine, written in the early part of this century.
Courtesy Clerk
By Jonathan Falk
Window decal: A boy pisses on a Ford logo, his eyes arched at the onlooker. In other words, piss on Ford, and Ford pisses on Chevrolet.
A volunteer sunflower with shoulders and shawls like a misfit, in the light teeming beyond the silhouette hills.
When mankind enters the doors, they are drawn to the nearest cart. If they find plastic bags, napkins, or other scatterings in a cart, they fish with their hands and flip the refuse into another cart.
Humble yellow jackets are imminent and peripheral in the el Nino of fuzzy autumn shade.
Crows pace through landscaped groves, earth slanting as they ratchet between unseen foliage.
Cars jump when they’re parked, but it’s the ones which aren’t seen which shine as they breeze by my legs, grazing my blind spot.
The maiden whose body is like an ear of corn, a spirit of partially hydrogenated soybean oil, taurine, and sucralose, flour and sugar squared and packed like maple bricks.
“Horn not working, watch for finger.”
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