A house on my body



A house on my body


There’s no possible hiding place here,
vanity or mirror.
It’s sharp translucent structure,
limpid and deserted.
A house on my body
of an uncomfortable rationalism,
broken Japanese harmony,
unfair and icy balance
no altars or flowers             no photos     
no family,
just a passing through       and insomnia ,
heritage and artifice.
A house on my body.
No one has been left here.
No children. No men. No ideas.

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