Anna's bowels gurgle

like an illicit distilling apparatus

on the opposite side

of The Great Ship of Dreams,

as the night travels in reverse,

it's dark face grinding through -20°C

Having found an answer,

I feel well out of the question

I throw out my arm casually

like a chameleon its tongue,

pulling the card with sticky notes

out of the golden lizard skin mug

at the bedside book shelf,

marking my holding position

in Shinkichi Takahashi's Triumph

of the Sparrow

with translations from the Japanese

by Lucien Stryk, my mind at ease,

pulled over into the curb

by a Zennist officer from the Shogenji Patrol,

serving me a speed reading ticket