I used to work in central Tokyo
For many hours at a travel bureau.
Home and work, back and forth, door to door.
My office was on the twenty-fourth floor
In the tower of forty stories high
That makes the acrophobic deeply sigh.
The tower is in a good location,
Directly connected to the station
By a subway with a travelator,
On which I walked to pass tardy walkers,
So briskly strutting in my high heels’ clack,
Dressed in a crispy suit of inky black.
One day I noticed a sign overhead
Written in a glaring green light that read,
“A Moving Walk / To High-Rise Buildings”
And thought of mirror-like pale grey gildings,
A series of continuous rectangles,
A repetitive chain of triangles.
/ construction mess / work in progress
/ signs of distress / emotionless
/ homelessness / a living death
(I’m out of breath)
/ self-destruction / stress reduction
/ mass production / mass consumption
/ pollution without solution / so on and on
Optical illusion
Or my delusion
“Exit to Street”