an old writer and his words

It sits off an alleythat winds off an alleyhalfway up the hillyou climb from Akasakato Ropponggi, cursing the layoutof the subway at the endof a too long day of meetings.There are no plastic samplesin a glass case outside the doorjust a t-shirt and beer mug, forribs and fires don’t translate wellto polystyrene and the loudoldies…