Sunday Poem

Every Morning After Killing Thousands of Angles
—excerpt

1

I read a boy's poem called
" Every Morning After Killing Thousands of Angles"
I forget the poem, but the title won't leave me
I drink some coffee
read a paper read by millions
all the misery
all the destruction in the world
herded into headlines and catch phrases
the only part I trust
is the financial page
a completely blank space governed
by the mechanics of capital and pure speculation

2

That boy's mornings
and my mornings—
how are they different?

3

But the boy can see the angels' faces

by Ryuichi Tamura
from The Vintage Book of Contemporary World Poetry
Vintage Books, 1996
translation from Japanese by Christopher Drake
.

Entire poem here

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