Koala Strawberries

for keiji (again) i compose a few lines - it's useless i'll never be a haiku writer (my destiny lies amid the cyrillic paperbacks the apartment blocks & spines of books i'll never read or pay to have published if we are poets then cities are koala strawberries rotting cherries in cardboard boxes: we'll write poems on them then laugh at ourselves we beautiful boys & girls as the autumn wind blows in from some obscure clime between seasons on the floor of the euro disco a sunspot on that wretched ikebana

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