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   k o b a y a s h i    i s s a

--- V I C T O R   H E R N A N D E Z   C R U Z

His eyes were binoculars
small things
Had the fury of the cosmos.
A winter enters a molar
a mosquito drinks up the ocean,
Tiny particles - a fly's leg
hits the leaf like thunder,
The very moon a cherry
in a beggar's pocket
And if it down pours rain
horses all wet upon 'chrysanthemum'
Who have no knowledge
of fragrance emanating
From the strokes of a brush -
her kimono full of fruit
Five fingers in her womb.

His father's best crop: Issa of the renga chain mountains of Yataro - must be a place Sounds in which gongs I'll compose it through his photos Watch the light in the river plum trees covered with snow, A jade Buddha in a garden toned in the frosty optics Of an owl through which a moth crosses out of nowhere Towards the porcelain light of a cat's teeth Which pierced through the morning fog. Issa heard insects with sour throats. In case of the flies he always swing with pad. Bed bugs ran out of the sky the bed of the stars Covered by the blanket of the blue firmament. He saw facial features scatter in the sunrise Noses and eyes charge up trees insert themselves In random animation, and then look back How ridiculous everything is scarecrows eating rice Dogs asleep upon melons The rich try to buy the poetry they do not have Snow turns to shit they frame it as art.

Quiet… Issa has reincarnated lives in Detroit Passes by Barrio polished Mexian house Through window sees kids hit piñata Looks like flower coming apart With las mañanitas all is flor y canto The horizon smiles with Issa everything else Becomes stupid.

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