At China Coast

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Sake induced, chain restaurant driven poetry

Bare limbed to whisper shrill
Hung heavy, wind-bobbing, dropping low
or lying white to earth
no leaf

The red and gold of China Coast
behind glass, quite nice at rest
and temperate to shed a coat
and drop a hat in the mid-frost.

Asphalt hard and gleaming black, oily
backdropped on three days of snow
the yuppie peasant comes and goes.

Blue trimmed against grey sky, flaking
offsetting, backlit and bare treed
Then the servant begs to agree.

A dream blown to the gut
like some gew without its gaw
or trumpet note without an ear.

Yet I am pleasured here --
Seeing the great wall and junk.

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