Parading

And when we hear the poem

First / there was some other order of things

I have emotions

It turns out every sun

It is embarrassing to be alive.

I’ve got a bone / to pick with whoever is in charge. All year,

By day I have circled like the sun,

Maybe, he thinks, it is like the Nō: whenever

O! there are spirits of the air

raw, exposed, naive,