I walked the 6,732 Islands of Japan for 6 poems

by austin beaton

I want to write you a letter. Email me three words at austinrbeaton@gmail.com and I will.

This poem is a part of Japan6, available for purchase in July. Read another sixth of the set here.

2.5 weeks of Tokyo is really quiet. And metal coins of 500 yen. And they love and I love their 7-Elevens (almost as much as I love you, Rite Aid). Learn more, in the first poem before five more:

Paid Time Off

Is worried it’s being a failure.

Person I’ll never see again spins

for her Dalmatian

so the leash won’t wrap

like barber poles blue white red revolve

on one cyclone-ing planet. All the same

atoms change my mood. Any toddler

coughs in a language some call

God. Here and there businessmen

neck-tied to bark to sell oil

for frying protein and miles driving.

Different shaped letters etch one story:

single incision of a woman she can’t escape

katakana. I feel the ape inside

of me breakdance. Grunts, fists.

Only one deep scar gashed

on a good woodsman. Silly to ever think

vacationing from being

carbon could get purchased.

This battle I spend

is where I barely hold my head

above it.