von
Torii Shozo


Facing southward,
an overpass extends.
At dusk
Bosh's town
is a mask of
melted fish bones.
Wingless birds
falling into disorder
float frolick...
The inner blinking desire of a glass door
of an underground cavern
in an old cracked castle
while its labyrinth's shadow
is disappearing:
to become small segments of wind
swirling uplifted.
How can the world be tranquil?
The man standing on the overpass:
It's barely possible:
Shining from the headlight, Rene Magritte.
There's a boundless desert through
the guy's backside.