Hiroko, this is a newsflash
on wavelengths
that are nothing like Tokyo’s:
there is a shortage of snow, and gravity
remains an enigma. All that talk
over technology—tired tracks of light
bending and folding up
like clockwork and bass clefs.
Every week, I concede a point
of inflection. Remember
when they used to say
karaoke? Now stars are shrinking
past the event horizon; the escape
speed of phonemes is astonishing.
You know how Mercury charts
an eccentric orbit—there are no stop signs
on these highways; not enough
vinegar in the rice.
