This world
A fading
Mountain echo
Void and
Unreal

Within
A light snow
Three Thousand Realms
Within those realms
Light snow falls

As the snow
Engulfs my hut
At dusk
My heart, too
Is completely consumed

- Ryōkan Taigu, 良寛大愚, (1758–1831)

1My heart’s aflutter!I am standing in the bath tubcrying. Mother, motherwho am I? If hewill just come back onceand kiss me on the facehis coarse hair brushmy temple, it’s throbbing!then I can put on my clothesI guess, and walk the streets.2I love you. I love you,but I’m turning to my versesand my heart is closinglike a fist.Words! besick as I am sick, swoon,roll back your eyes, a pool,and I’ll stare downat my wounded beautywhich at best is only a talentfor poetry.Cannot please, cannot charm or winwhat a poet!and the clear water is thickwith bloody blows on its head.I embraced a cloud,but when I soaredit rained.3That’s funny! there’s blood on my chestoh yes, I’ve been carrying brickswhat a funny place to rupture!and now it is raining on the ailanthusas I step out onto the window ledgethe tracks below me are smoky andglistening with a passion for runningI leap into the leaves, green like the sea4Now I am quietly waiting forthe catastrophe of my personalityto seem beautiful again,and interesting, and modern.The country is grey andbrown and white in trees,snows and skies of laughteralways diminishing, less funnynot just darker, not just grey.It may be the coldest day ofthe year, what does he think ofthat? I mean, what do I? And if I do,perhaps I am myself again.
- Frank O’Hara, Mayakovsky, Meditations in  an Emergency (1956)

1
My heart’s aflutter!
I am standing in the bath tub
crying. Mother, mother
who am I? If he
will just come back once
and kiss me on the face
his coarse hair brush
my temple, it’s throbbing!

then I can put on my clothes
I guess, and walk the streets.

2
I love you. I love you,
but I’m turning to my verses
and my heart is closing
like a fist.

Words! be
sick as I am sick, swoon,
roll back your eyes, a pool,

and I’ll stare down
at my wounded beauty
which at best is only a talent
for poetry.

Cannot please, cannot charm or win
what a poet!
and the clear water is thick

with bloody blows on its head.
I embraced a cloud,
but when I soared
it rained.

3
That’s funny! there’s blood on my chest
oh yes, I’ve been carrying bricks
what a funny place to rupture!
and now it is raining on the ailanthus
as I step out onto the window ledge
the tracks below me are smoky and
glistening with a passion for running
I leap into the leaves, green like the sea

4
Now I am quietly waiting for
the catastrophe of my personality
to seem beautiful again,
and interesting, and modern.

The country is grey and
brown and white in trees,
snows and skies of laughter
always diminishing, less funny
not just darker, not just grey.

It may be the coldest day of
the year, what does he think of
that? I mean, what do I? And if I do,
perhaps I am myself again.

- Frank O’Hara, Mayakovsky, Meditations in an Emergency (1956)

"Watch birth and death:
The lotus has already
Opened its flower.”

- 夏目 漱石, Natsume Sōseki

"Tokyo/June 11, 1976"

I have the five poems
that I wrote earlier today
     in a notebook
in the same pocket that
I carry my passport. They
are the same thing.

- Richard Brautigan

Long long I lay in the sands

Sounds of trains in the surf
in subways of the sea
And an even greater undersound
of a vast confusion in the universe
a rumbling and a roaring
as of some enormous creature turning
under sea and earth
a billion sotto voices murmuring
a vast muttering
a swelling stuttering
in ocean’s speakers
world’s voice-box heard with ear to sand
a shocked echoing
a shocking shouting
of all life’s voices lost in night
And the tape of it
somehow running backwards now
through the Moog Synthesizer of time
Chaos unscrambled
back to the first
harmonies
And the first light

- Lawrence Ferlinghetti, A Vast Confusion

En robe de parade. Samain

Like a skein of loose silk blown against a wall
She walks by the railing of a path in Kensington Gardens,
And she is dying piece-meal
      of a sort of emotional anaemia.

And round about there is a rabble
Of the filthy, sturdy, unkillable infants of the very poor.
They shall inherit the earth.

In her is the end of breeding.
Her boredom is exquisite and excessive.
She would like some one to speak to her,
And is almost afraid that I
      will commit that indiscretion.

- Ezra Pound, The Garden

This is the one and only

firmament; therefore

it is the absolute world.

There is no other world.

The circle is complete.

I am living in Eternity.

The ways of this world

are the ways of Heaven.

- Ginsberg, Metaphysics, New York, Mid-1949

I’m depressed, haunted by melancholy that does not have a reflection      nor cast a shadow. 12,000,000 people live here in Tokyo. I know I’m not alone. Others must feel the way      I do.
 - Richard Brautigan, Tokyo, May 26, 1976, 1 P.M.

I’m depressed,
haunted by melancholy
that does not have a reflection
     nor cast a shadow.
12,000,000 people live here in Tokyo.
I know I’m not alone.
Others must feel the way
     I do.

 - Richard Brautigan, Tokyo, May 26, 1976, 1 P.M.

Chilling autumn rains   curtain Mount Fuji, then make it   more beautiful to see
- Matsuo Bashō

Chilling autumn rains 
curtain Mount Fuji, then make it 
more beautiful to see

- Matsuo Bashō

Her bouquet cleaved his hardened shell And fondled his muscled heart. He imbibed her glistening spell Just before the other shoe fell.

Her bouquet cleaved his hardened shell
And fondled his muscled heart.
He imbibed her glistening spell
Just before the other shoe fell.