On the bridge

I stand on a bridge
over the busy traffic
of a four lane street
on the right hand side
two men are playing the drums
on the left
a man is playing his sax to the sounds that surround him
in the middle a workman blows some leaves
here is a great concert of the city:

the cars hum
the vans buzz
the bikes rumble
the sax player bops
the drummers bap
the workman blows
the car honks
the taxi hits
the car
an accident occurs
the traffic stops
but the beat goes on

Sun set

The sun begins to set
I follow the scales of a trumpet player
into the setting sun

Yoyogi Park

Crows caw
People laugh
Drunkers chuckle
One of them gives
his friend a haircut
standing up
bicycles race past
helicopters fly
over head
birds chirp
children run and play
in red and blue
the sun shines
in cool air
motorcycles buzz past
children scream
crows caw
a young girl laughs at her dad
the soft wind blows
a picnic is had
a crow invades
people are peaceful
here
they come and go
or they pass by
I wait for the drift

Game Center

"Experience what it is like to be Rambo. Press the trigger and kill the enemy. 1 credit to continue. 2 to start."

Shibuya Station

I get off the train and pass through the gate. Some women are checking out the flower shop of pinks, yellows, greens. purples, oranges, and reds . A woman makes juice at a drink stand for a man in a black suit. An officer gives directions to an old woman. A worker from a drink company is fixing a vending machine. A man with an apron repairs worn out shoes while the customers watch. All the while hundred of people walk past me in geta, high heels, sneakers, dress shoes, and boots.

The Restaurant

When I enter, two couples are already seated. Music comes from the kitchen. It sounds like the Beatles, but I'm pretty sure its Indian. A motorcycle buzzes by. High heels clack on the floor. The table across from me speaks loud enough for everyone in the room to here, but I understand only few words. Other tables speak in soft voices. I hear the munching of naan. I sit near the door. I see the reflection of paper lanterns reflecting in the window. I bump the table with my elbow. Lights intermittently flash past the front of the store. Spoons tap porcelain bowls. The shadow of my hand hits the page. The sink in the kitchen spits hot scolding water. A pan rattles on a cook's table. Various conversations phase in and out over the soft spell of Indian rhythms. The panand mushroom curry here is excellent.

Airport

Old Stapleton airport goes parkside community.