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PART TWO: UBIK
After a decade of adding soy sauce to garlic,
My favorite sauce spiced up my academic,
It has become tasteless over the days
As my friends have gone their separate ways
To find foreign menus and foreign miles,
I've been slaved to my own traditional files.
Now the boiled eggs
On the wood table said,
For a thousand times, I'm dead,
It's morning again in my head,
Two empty mornings wave ahead.
The news anchor reminds me
To bring an umbrella as I flee
But it just doesn't matter, honey
I may want to shut the TV.
I'm still on the table under the tree,
Thinking deeper than the bottom of my tea,
Thinking about why my feet walked warily.
And as I searched for my ancient shoes,
I looked down under my bed in blues
Where my mother's handkerchief accuse
Of sleeping like a baby vampire, I lose
Embroidered with my name and some clues
With initials that I misuse.
I picked it up
Like a lovely rose grown in the wild
And put it in my pocket like a homeless child.
...
© ubik
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