an old writer and his words

In my reframed dreamI am sitting in a smoky bar,bathed in the neon of Roppongi.with the sour smell of Sapporo and Asahiwafting up from the beer-damp floor.I don’t want to be here, wantto be miles and miles from this placein the shadows of Mount Wakakusawalking slowly through Todai-jiin search of something I haveyet to find,…