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To Diane di Prima from Japan
by Jesse Glass


Thinking my way

into & out of my life

This morning.

Rain in Japan

empty rooms filled w/ machines

Chewing the silence

into slurries

& pulps

America (an elec-

Tronic dream wav-

Ering before my eyes

gives me a headache.)

I died in Oswego, New York one spring afternoon

fell flat on my nose on the sidewalk

A pay phone receiver still clutched in hand

seeking directions

To another nowhere

Left that old body behind

& sat down among ghosts

In Economy class

& flew to Osaka, then

Nagasaki, then (as in a dream)


Now finally here

an elegant ghost wife

& two bright ghost children


An aquarium

W/ 3 gold fish

On the front balcony

(They strike

The rain drop dimples

Nibble sky)

is it true?

Can the dead

Still dance

W/ a cheap plastic umbrella in one hand

& do they smile, learn to

Converse in ghost language

Write alphabets that resemble

Drawings of flower pots?

Can they finally find something

after a life-time

of nothings?

Thinking my way

Into and out of my life

This morning

53 years old.


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