May 06, 2004

bicycles

the mangled bicycles
piled high in that Metro station
like a mass grave
of radio-
active children

i see my father
business-suited
or in the vague
white cover-all
of the anonymous "associate"
i see him riding
one of those bicycles
thru the rigid
chaos of Tokyo
at 3am
searching for his lost hotel..

here in his room
high above the vacant asphalt veins &
arteries
the spent hour's last sigh
shakes the window pane;
my father rides in circles
my father rides in silence..

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