crossroads in shibuya

standing at a crossroads in Shibuya

the only one with tattoos who isn't Yakuza

the black and white lines, no need to use them,

i walk the path of least resistance

no prescriptions except from the nostrum clinic

no gimmicks, taking note of passing images, then

painting pictures in sentences

entering the endless, centred in it

cement to the source of self, the truest source of wealth is consciousness

the more commas, the more pondering where the conscience lives

talking shit from the off-ramp, not walking back

to back corner offices, backs to the wall of the coffin lid

not too long before the coffee tin, an ornament on the wall of the opulent

a conference caller, white collar boardroom game of opposites

all for profit, false profits in Polo Laurens

a well-spoken orifice, a true abomunist

the cough bomber in the audience, applauding

me.