Goodnight, Travel well

The cut is deep, he smiles
The blood gushes, as he gets a rise
The eyes roll, he watches on
He looks warm to comfort, content with carnage
No panic, no words
Breathing winds down, but his breath is steady
The dead look, he stares deeply into
The heart slowly stops, his heart beats normal pace
As it turns cold, he strokes the arm
Whispers in the ear, “Goodnight, travel well”.

New Beat

Swing in a dress
Tap in her heels
All the trappings
Are meaningless
When her song comes
Free as a bird
High as a moon
No longer is she
A robotic being
More like liquid
Easy as a breeze
She sways away
In perfect motion
To a new beat

japan-1

Shine rising sun
for I come
to the home
of Fugi San
Put on the ink
in rice paper, sinks
Write my name
in Katakana stain
Can I begin
to spend my yen
Live kabuki dreams
in kimono seams
My fashion escape
Hello kitty and Bape
All the exclusives
That elsewhere are elusive
I smell the sea
as I sip green tea
Eat sushi rolls
and white rice bowls
Entertained by way
of anime
Enjoy my sight
of Kana lights
Small spaces
Cartoon faces
Clean rows
Harajuku bows
Traditional hearts
Modern parts
Big city buildings
Small town fieldings
Innovations
Bullet train stations
Decadent tea houses
Old sun nostalgias
Temples and shrines
Bowing lines
Sliding doors
Tatami floors
Public bath showers
Morning glory flowers
All the decor
Blooming in fluer
Umbrellas and fans
The beauty, Japan

Perfectly she lay
in cloth of Armani Privé
No mistake in care
Pressed and fixed wear
Fine lines down to lips
The finest polished tips
Every line of fushia and plum
feels like O.p.i um
It doesn’t Cover the Girl
Makes her more known to the world
Twinkles in her ears
Neck to wrist, flashy tiers
The glamorous ups
of Tiffany “diamond” Stud
Now, the colors of Prada
mean nada
If not decked in Lanvins
and Balmain pins
If beauty is pain
she stands no gain
in the Loubotins
she’s walking in
If Marc could see
all the drapery
of Jacob’s flowers
and Kirkwood towers
It would bring him love
if only for the cloth above
The writings of the Notens
Will only be Bespoken
In tags clear view
of all the Miu Miu
Like an Opening Ceremony
her presence is matrimony
Something close to Vera Wang
if human love was the thing
No problem with Tom
he’s always a Ford on
Neither with Louie
Capital L, he loves truly
She could be with any man
if he could understand
that her 123s and ABCs
were really Y-3s and A.P.Cs
The fashion doll
only in heels could she fall
Expresses it when she talks
Even more when she walks
Beauty down the way
past all the Urban Decay