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..........after Japan, 3/11/2011

I type numbers for thirteen
dollars an hour and sit in a black
chair for eight hours. Glass
cloth covers my eyes. Cold

sand fills my bones. A graveyard

on the hill is burning.
After the earthquake, a fisherman
runs to the fire. He carries
a clarinet and yells to me,

What else do you want?

I stab
the calculator with scissors.
They slice my skin. Veins
overflow. White ashes fall on the granite

floor. I smell of my singed eyelids. A tsunami

pushes the flaming tombstones and boats.

Under the crescent moon, the fisherman
plays a clarinet concerto. He vibrates
his reed. In the ocean breeze, he inhales
human dust. I open

my eyes. I want


and then more lights.

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