∞ (Japanese Love Songs) by Andrew Last
∞ for Anto ∞
Gaze By light of fire, orange glow, we find a wooden bench, A fulcrum to call home. Aware of common side effects— Blurred vision, taste of coin—we pony up three points Of contact. Spell unbreakable, warns the label, yet we Cast away, subvocalise the incantation; we take pains
To conceal the slightest tick, twitch of smile. Trapped In a shallow field, we sharpen against the blinking city. The garden lantern flickers; the question goes begging For answers amid sustained tremolo. A minute passes, Boisterous as cloud or moon. The only word for this Feeling is an act of perjury. Look at us now, we wish When it’s all over—a sea change has flooded the lens,
A point of view conducive to scanning. Winking edits The film in real time. Cutting away, we pan up to find Real sky through a tear in the backdrop, blue starlight. If we didn’t know any better, we’d wait for cue or cure. Don’t panic, the prompt mouths, spitting out the curse.
Yokohama From up on this grandfather hill, time spirals Seaward; the violent breeze makes a war flag Of loose clothing. We regard the battle ahead As a botanical specimen, foreign under glass, Magnified yet magnificent. We are attracted
By the siren song of a telescope, paper view Arbour. The floral emblem of our native land Is caught like a glimpse, preserved in a bleary Solution. There’s no changing how fire works. We must content ourselves with a page break Or rising sun, let the past dry up as heartache. As though pulled by thread, we gather leaves
To treat wound, build nest. The ocean’s edge Glistens with vessels. There’s no telling how The mainsail will unfurl in such a downpour. Arrr, me hearties, we say in character, soaking Up the storm. Tears like this run in our family.
Yutenji The game glitch transports us up platforms; A bracket in the margin bears the hallmark Of remnants. Racing over the narrow ledges, Endless runners, we seek refuge high above Boss levels. Stacked upon eggshells, smoke
Cafe, home stands out. Pirate planks straddle Two small rooms; the locked door promises Safety of landing zone. We respire, taking in The view, blinking satellite tower, far off fire. By night, we navigate the switchboard streets, Turning blindly, fractal alleyways zooming in For a bird’s eye view. The temple, clean cut
In daybreak, juts out proud against white sky Of drones. We are hours away from twirling Festival of lanterns. We exorcise neighbours. Power activated: the ability to find treasure Within this empty chest of first impressions.
Frogs Signs abound in early days: a lone sandal stands out As a guru; scandals of graffiti dribble timely advice. The all-night coin laundry is loaded with questions. Stepping outside for fresh air, we spy a canvas bag Shaping up in the mirror, creases prepped for flight.
As nib or nose of plane, we dip into chopsticks lore, Hungry for oodles of history, side dish of alphabet. Surprises flood the izakaya as a tap on the shoulder; Our dripping engine longs to connect the dots, paint An Audubon. The cinnamon unrolls before our eyes, Wrapping up in a sneeze of spilled ink. A choo-choo Train, riddled with bullets, dreams of magnanimous
Levitation. We shoot skyward to collect more tokens. We form part of the skyline, wonder whether this is What wuthering feels like. Ponds double, blooming. How quickly love seeps through the page; it jumps Pad to pad as though stung by the arrow frog of time.
Stairway All has come unstuck despite the bed jammed In the stairway. In light of a recent phone call, I capitulate, fade from your book of addresses. Shake me by the shoulders: this is not a drill Worthy of such fine fingernails. No problem
Is insoluble to water, empty glass reminds me. Sopping wet with shame, I check foundations, Test pillar of salt. What to make of checksum Errors, castle in the sky leaking data packets? I don’t blame you for leaving me out to dry. I don’t blame the coming winter for wardrobe Malfunctions, missteps. Place the social cue
Back in the rack for later trick shots. Hardly The time or place for lying down, I hibernate In feathers of hope, long, cold month my foe. Remarkably, you nestle up beside me. Light As a falling leaf, we land softly on the sheet.
Zamami I know one thing about love is buried in sand beyond the strait. Under sky the colour of exotic plant, buoyant upon Rembrandt Waves, we drift landward, polar to the current. All behind us lies Before us. A pair of neglected bikes puncture the dune; choosing Feet, awash with snake fear, we trek inland, our tracks erased
By a breeze jealous of every little trace. We scale the dam wall For a glimpse of postcard, are confronted by a scene wild with Vending machines. We rise above, like a boss, to survey empire: The archipelago writhes, a cryptic serpent, our cove but a coil In the telling of right now. Distant cargo ships blink in disbelief As all is taken in. The scent of bitter gourd rises from the village, Ripening the inscription of a blank journal. Savour this moment
In a small glass jar before searching, years later, for a spot where Our paths crossed. We are two dogs howling for moon’s revival. Bulkheads pile up with the ambition of coral, forming a passage From bay to bay. We are infants baptised in horizon. It takes time For ink to settle on the page. It takes time for the ocean to sink in.
Kyoto Recommended worship routes rule out the perimeter, The soft interior of under oath; paper chains undulate, Flowing strands of bird. Body is temple, yet we clutch Shoes through plastic bag, pet bottle, tread floorboard As if drowning. Drinking deeply from a rooted trickle,
We search pockets, make a wish for the coin to land In water. Grime on the lens reproduces a matte finish; Gloss is ladled out like soup, causing memory to stir. First appearances are processed in a darkroom of time; Even an ancient capital starts off as a lovely little letter. Beyond the pages of palace, a gentle stream is muddied By feats of poetry. As we listen to a shuttered-in voice,
The tour opens up a pebbled desert; we straggle to see The crane unfold, part from existence. Old answers lie Under sleeping high walls. Strung over smooth beams, The wooden prayer blocks click as one, counting down The moment for the drifting leaf to fetter in full song.
Shibuya Crossing / Lockers We shelter within a latticework of high street, safe From onrush of exit ramps. Seeping through, neon Apologia griddles the sidewalk. We wait as a dog, Frozen in stone, takes the beacon. How our hearts Scramble to safety. Wise in youth, we fill the role
With a vegan alternative, paste of red bean. Box Among boxes, impenetrable except by gold coin, Our house stands out from the background tiling, More than mere animal shelter. Inside, genuine Articles dwell indefinitely, short as ticket stubs But worthy of love’s expansion. Our early work, Distinguished by keystrokes, leaves a deep taste
Of midnight ramen. We count down chainlinks Like a rosary. Soft as LED, the flank lights up, Universal symbol for go around. Nothing fits in Such cramped space without creasing. Unphased, We drift through the heavy traffic, like a spinoff.