Gyoshoku danshi


Here’s a fish with salt
on his shoulder

         the ocean’s best
tasting son. His meat
a test of stamina

in a city ceramic.

by glowing Fukushima
plumes. Waiting

         for low tide with
a bloated moon
on his back.

I’ve been grilled
over my own

I’ve been
my own patch
of drought grass

          seams split by
someone else’s

The serrated edge
          of patience
and my belly its

After this, I have no guts
to tie, no sausage joy.

I’ll drive your bus
into the barbeque
          pit and burn clean
through the bones

          your true-blue
dinosaur charcoal.

Wrap yourself in sugar

          You’re encrusted with tacks.
With snacks.

I’m here to write
a different man.

Shouldn’t we taste like
          warm, milky milk?

Drift into me
          fish. I’m the sweetest
seaweed you’ll ever

lick. Your devoted
          brackish coil of stars.

Your boss radio signal

          galactic north.