A Mind Thinking in Japanese
The broken heart of the average Joe. The tidy summations of history. The way we wallow in the molasses of fear. The lone-wolf streak in conformity. To dream the impossible dream, a malady endemic to youth.
It occurs to me that possibly a mind thinking in Japanese can’t have these thoughts, which makes me remember the first time I realized I was thinking in German, hungover on a crowded Munich bus.
Most poets, even some of the good ones, write securely tethered to society’s mores, bobbing a few feet over the crowd like air balloons on strings.
