Nagasaki Trance

i got frisked in fukuoka/ like a dog i just woofed and rolled over/ i had a date with a destination/ had to get to the bullet train station/ validated my japanese rail pass/ calculated how long it would last until/ I had to get off to get on to get off/ to ride a peace train yeah/ a peace train going on a peace train yeah/ on a nagasaki peace train/ i’m on a train yeah it’s a train it’s a very very good train / i’m on a train yeah i’m on a train/ all aboard the nagasaki peace train

in the city of nagasaki/ the nightlife leaves much to be desired/ wandering around the entertainment district/ i couldn’t find a single bar to whet my whistle/ then suddenly a sign that read “ayers rock”/ struck me out of the koala blue so i decided to/ go down the lift to the bar in the basement then instead getting hit by a long hot blast of/ (beat) nagasaki nagasaki yeah it sounds like nagasaki/ and i don’t dance i don’t dance /not unless the dj’s playing/ trance nagasaki trance

all the girls with their uggs and glowsticks/ all the boys with their gucci bum bags/ taking pictures with their mobile cameras/ just like it’s any other night of the week although it’s monday/ the door girl is eying me off then she’s/ giving me a complimentary glow stick/ nagasaki! (beat) nagasaki! (beat) here i am in nagasaki/ having gotten off the (beat) gotten off the nagasaki peace train/ here i am (yeah) here i am deep inside a/ nagasaki (beat) peace nagasaki/ nagasaki trance club

in the peace club suns were shining/ from the eyes of all the sakamoto dancers/ na na na na na merry crhistmas mr lawrence/ all the girls begin to dance towards the big beats/ thunder sound effects are momentarily silent/ as that piano washes over all the trancers/ but i don’t dance no i don’t dance/ unless the dj’s playing nagasaki/ i don’t dance (beat) i don’t dance unless it’s to the nagasaki peace trance/ peace trance/ slow trance/ (beat) trancing to the nagasaki peace trance

& i’m on a train yeah i’m on a train/ yes indeed a very very fast train/ & we’re on a train (yeah) inside a peace train/ all aboard a very fine peace train/ & the dj’s trance makes me want to dance/ dancing to the nagasaki peace trance/ yeah i’m on a train a very big train yeah/ i’m on a train yes it’s called the nagasaki peace train/ & i don’t dance but i don’t dance/ unless the dj’s into nagasaki trance/ don’t (beat) don’t ask me to dance/ unless you just requested nagasaki trance

Drunken Ko Un

Audience of subway strangers. Stagger at them! Pelt them with praise! I’m Ko Un, and I’m drunker than a poem. This text, pirated, sallies forth upon the bristled breeze. Ko Un! Standing in your shadow magic. Spam, originating from the Republic of Soju, hits me fortnightly. Ko Un! Standing by the door, laughing at advertisements. Shouting obscenities at microscopic mobiles. Dreaming of deep blue grass. Coming round to the sound of sirens. Drunkenness, created by weaving fingers! Text! Applause! Ko Un! You look so cute in that dress. Oops, sorry! That wasn’t meant to … go to you. Hmm. Text me! Tomorrow you’ll wake up and wonder what I was drinking. I was drunk on your text! Looking forward to your future replies! To your future! To the text future we are creating together. You … Ko Un … you really looked … drunk in that text. Boy, were you drunken! Who would have thought your poems – out loud? Ko Un! Text me! Call me a name! I know voice calls are expensive but I need to hear from you! Okay, so I’m drunk. What’s new? Text! Your poem vibes sounding out the freak stages! Ko Un! I’m dancing down the aisle, I’m dancing down the escalator, I’m dancing down the street with my texting fingers itching, drunk! I’m seeing a thousand Ko Uns standing in the subway station. It’s dark and drunk. I’m texting myself to see whether I’m alive. Or just drunk! Ko Un! Baby, I’m drunk. Can you text Ko Un and let him know we’ll be late? You looked just … great line. Text! Damn drunks! I want to kiss … etc. Who, Ko Un? Nah, you.

Imaginary Mao

i got mao’s text around eight –
i was sitting in some dingy bar
watching boxers spar on the tv
i’ll be late don’t wait for me
so i ordered some more wasabi
peas & massaged my stiff knees
dreamily it’s always like this
i think because mao’s the one who’s
always late (mentioning something
about make-up or a facelift in
a mausoleum somewhere they’re
probably touching him up as we
speak (friday night in beijing
was not quite what i expected
it to be despite what the old
fortune teller told me about
patience being the key to my
future life still i can’t help
wondering what’s keeping him –
maybe the rain, or a lost taxi?
more beer recharge my battery
witnessing scuffles by the door
more & more peasants turned
artists swarm for stools & drink
until finally (finally!) there’s
a buzz by the window & his big
moon face floating past i shout
mao! mate! & his head swivels
& i feel like the devil drinking
faust i make way for the body
of my hero, cold but shining in
the wan electric ceiling light
what would you be drinking then
i say (without waiting for his
reply – it’s always vodka for us
six shots each then a glass of
hot milk still i’m a little bit
annoyed by his drunken silence
after all who’s not stopping him
from texting away on that big tv
phone of his? – a freebie from
some mysterious company seeking
advertising rights over mao or
the madame i ask how she’s going
(no reply (the guy’s manners are
beginning to piss me off not to
mention the barman who thought
of mao as an old friend up until
this point it seems mao’s been
keeping better company something
about drunken lenin & santa claus
mao mimics him going ho chi min
ho ho
this draws a laugh from
one or two desperate pop artists
but i’m mum & so won’t even look
at him now preferring instead to
pretend my beer bottle’s just a
telescope & its contents the sea
abruptly the barman calls last
drinks but mao doesn’t even move
dead drunk i suppose that great
big mug of his looking kind of
fake now in the bright light of
dawn somehow i stumble out into
an alley with no past my arms
around mao’s slippery neck we
do a little dance together as we
try to resurrect the name of the
club we’d planned to visit to no
avail thus i’m left with no choice
but to pile the man into a taxi &
pay off the driver with a wink
& ten yuan see this one gets
home safely would you? thanks
he’s a special mate of mine –
name’s mao imaginary mao
i say bye (no reply

Potentially Explosive Atmosphere

thunderheads line up across the bay
as airbirds wait their turn to taxi
pulses of energy enter these bodies
coming out the other side breathing

prevaricating at the petrol station
as the passers-by smoked cigarettes
the atmosphere was on orange alert
but the radios played old gangajang

humidity creeps through the gardens
as hummingbirds get the final call
jasmine supplies dangerously low –
tearing off every printed forecast

barometric disasters wait to happen
as a circling isobar drinks its fill
outside even the planetarium wavers
& the marathon runners begin to melt

six o’clock shadows on a newsreader
as the tickertape parade lingers on
the potentially explosive air pocket
charged like a yearning peace rocket