THE BROKEN WORLDS

In the red light district his secret wanderings from one place

To another allowed him joy; behaving himself surreptitiously

In the twilight where the wide lakes had burned up he felt not 

Hot; not a foreign body but a secret she told me; I fell in with this.

She went on: English is like Chinese and both are like metaphysics.

Thinking on this type of protective knifework suited him in the  

Dark gennels of the Edo night. Purity he dashed to the ground

And slashed and slashed in the vicious obscurity until as if at the far

End of a tunnel he saw glimmering the crimes he would commit, 

Jewels rose green yellow following the golden contrary to sleep:

Golden smoke writhes. Behind the calligraphy stands War. Rolls

Royce. Mercury. He who forwent man bees wasps ants cranes 

Wards off the time of broken worlds; all is not to be thought of

At one go, though I know in these matters, these streets it just happens.