Four New Poems
October, 1971
KamikazeAnd I shudderand come to my senses--Look!His elbows dug into the green table,a former kamikaze pilot--a dead man, Japanese,truly--is talking about Raskolnikov.At a "Symposium on the Novel," he's forty-five,an old man. He's likepolite sobbing ...he's like a screamstrangled by a necktie. And through usand somewhere past us,through shimose flak and the shade of Lazo*like the yellow shine of Hiroshima,reeling,his face flies past.But in his throat you can't tellwhether it's a lump o...
