“The real folk blues,
I just want to know real sadness
A life spent soaked in the muddy river’s not so bad
If it’s over after one go-round”
-Yūho Iwasato, lyricist of The Real Folk Blues
The remaining grace of entirely,
More or less,
Human construction which sees me,
And for me like a guide-dog,
Comes in the form of familiar foreign phrases,
Ferreting their way through time and space,
Accompanied by coincidence,
To find me when I needed them most:
Lifetimes away from the people surrounding me,
Rolling my dumb rock up a mute hill.
But with the words come the winds,
Of a change in perspective that can only come from without,
To illuminate the valley the lie in silent waiting,
For me to notice it,
Rather than the peak I would not,
And could not,
Ever see.
Post-Neology 