Routine

A Tanka.

Just by the window 
seated in the moving train
I wait a while for
my thoughts to run through the streets
of all the sand castle dreams

Messiah of My Words

I see my words wander through the crowds

They sniff at the coffee shop

To see if you are still there

Mingled with the smell of mismatched filter coffee

I see them wandering through the corridors

Peeping through the half-closed doors

And grilled windows, making sure

That they won’t miss your rare visits

They seem to like the way you casually feed them

While you just sit there

Talking about yourself

Frantically waving your arms around

Adjusting your hair

Wiping your eyes beneath your glasses

And sometimes about the world

How it is rotting

How you see people smiling towards their deaths

How you hope that there is redemption

How you are saddened that a messiah is not at hand

How you dream about being the messiah

But just look down at your feet when you are back here next time

My words lie there faithfully

Waiting for your caress

Waiting for your fingers to run through the furs

And for the treat that you always carry around with you without even noticing

For my words,

You are the messiah they are waiting for