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Tokyo
Where is your trash, your litter? Have the blackbirds been hired to keep watch? How do I connect the morning which is my night which is my new morning? Why does every white tiled subway tunnel look the same? They open to expanses of present flooded by a chaos of bodies – stay to the left only gets you so far then a team of Grandmas comes straight on playing chicken. For who knows what right, direction or purpose. Oh you’re off to Shinjuku? Excuse me, I’m en route to Shibuya to check out the latest clothes and eat semi-stale popcorn in an uncrowded theater – the young couple the row behind trade coos, American for Japanese – this Shaolin Girl is a real whiz with flips kicks and lacrosse stick. There’s everything to do. The umbrellas are matched to the clothes – clear are the plain Janes, but then there’s every shade: pink, fuchsia, mauve, ivory with black lace trim, edges that curve in between the metal struts, some are straight too, there’s blueberry, boysenberry, and blue-black, shellac, shiny, flat, frames, and flowers, stripes, curves, curls, and rainbows. This is serious business this keeping dry - heels keep the ankles out of the puddles and go clip clip clip clip on the stone sidewalks – it’s no problem on these hills and stairs up and out and down and over the walkways. The veneers are perfect. Couples walk together under the same umbrella – each smartly dressed, she with her matching he – pinstripes and dinner jackets fitted pants and shirts – button downs and loose T’s with cool text like “Sonic Youth” matched with belts cloth woven canvas leather long short tight loose – my favorites the studded black leather ones. I wonder where everyone is going – to or from love hotels or apartments to what end - the immediate need to be seen is satisfied, to be different, obvious – and to my eyes they are all successful in the uniqueness – I see no two of anything – except the clear umbrellas and the color black and this keeps me looking – some wear inches of make-up and appear tanner than possible – there was one tube-top – a wannabe American hoochie mama – she could have cut you with her nails though and her boyfriend looked like a rock star in his black hoodie and perfectly disheveled long hair. There are umbrella condoms at the entrance to the coffee shop to prevent patrons from spilling their rain everywhere. Enter, condom on, buy coffee, condom off, exit back to the rain drenched streets, the rain drenched air, the rain drenched wind, the rain drenched gray canvas upon which the pinks and reds, the blues and greens, the white lace and silver buckles pop.
Design of a Pipelined 8b 10MSPS Analog To Digital Converter from System to OTA
A Three Transistor Discrete FM Transmitter
Experiment Number 34958
On the bunsen burner popcorn kernels go off like far-away guns.
They fill the 2 liter pyrex beaker with white
And shadow ready to be eaten.
Carefully all the acids are mixed to their bases.
After the argument over electrons has fizzled
I sprinkle the salt on my
elbow crease, bite a lime
and down a shot of de-ionized water.
All the equations and observations in my lab book
have walked off their pages.
They dance to Harry Belafonte and
write me letters of resignation.
In the dark closet Frankenstein dreams of being human.
The sink is full of eyeballs. I don't know where they came from.
The lid on the flask chatters.
I have lit this laboratory with phenolphthalein and sodium hydroxide.
Inside my atoms there are no questions to the answers:
"I was made" and "I am in charge most of the time"
But there are tiny spaces, and in those spaces
fields that demand faith in invisible forces.