By Tom H. Brooks 3


Flickering pools of light

flash across dark midnight water

Strange sea birds voice

their unintelligible language

Speaking riddles into

the still air…


My woman still remains

after all these years

a mystery

an enigma

a puzzle that is missing pieces


Once you make me doubt myself

perhaps it is time for me to go


I say this to no one

but myself

as I stand here alone

at the edge of this dirty canal

that flows into a dirty river…


Yes, the water flows


back to the vast emptiness

of the great ocean

which no longer gives me solace


The echoes of the past pierce my thoughts

with spearheads of pleasure and pain


The lights of Central Tokyo

sparkle in the distance

but they hold nothing for me…

It is all an illusion

An empty vortex


As always

I linger on the edge

the fringes

where phantoms glide silently

Where ghosts shuffle soundlessly

through alleys of trash

and forgotten dreams


There are no revelations

for me here

or anywhere, for that matter…


I continue to blunder

through this endless ebony night

seeking something I may never find…


The water flows

It crawls and rolls

gently stirring the filthy sludge

on the bottom


It flows sluggishly through the blackness

going nowhere but back

to the infinite void from whence it came…


I sink slowly into the oblivion of despair…

It greets me with open arms…






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