Takeshi Takahashi

Goddammit I hate writing poetryAnd I bet that it also hates meBut there is no escapePut the pen to the paperWrite a word, then a thought, then we’ll seeGoddammit I hate writing

They don't make them like they used to.Frozen wasteland survivors agitate.Functions inside functions inside functions.The centre was a myth, it only ever held hot air.Even this loose form feels

I read Bukowski with a smile Toe-tapping rhythm on display Dance with him a little while Flowing beats, I’m swept away He writes his mind, he seems set free From filth to

For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against powers and principles and patterns of thought. We happy prisoners Fixed on shadow dancers And mixed-up images But oh let loose the

SFO arrivals eyeshine California queen coup’d Posed in latent summer When it mattered most To see and be seen to be carefree All this thrashing about Grind now, grind later Pale shoulders

It's sad It's taken So long to write this. So long the tight fists Of psychic pain clamp shut Applying pressure to a wound. To keep as much inside To keep from gushing

Je me réveille tôt Huileux de mes rêves creux Le soleil brule Mais le lit est frais Dans mon petit coin Je me lève Quand je pense que je peux Mon esprit palpite

All foundries and fact'ries will work overtime To fire every ingot and further refine To melt it and smelt it and make it all clean I stopped up a delta to build a

when its dark i like to look at myself my self in the mirror and trace my shape so featureless so full of potential i feel so full of light of life of