Poem of the Day : Takahashi Mutsuo

                
                
Myself with a Glory Hole
Lord, when will it be?
Will it be long before Your visit?
I crouch on the opprobrious floor, waiting, while before me
are pictures of angels with wings, and of saints;
at the center of the wall adorned with holy words of gold and silver,
a holy hole—Your shining visitation through it,
is it not yet time for it?
O then, I would kneel before You,
madly open my lips parched and cracked from thirst,
and as that terrifying prophet said,
fill my mouth with You.
Inside my mouth You would quickly grow large,
Your holy basket would violently overflow and splatter,
and to my popping eyes, my short nose,
to my crewcut head with a lot of young gray hair,
and to my narrow forehead, splatter all over, drip lazily,
and like trails of slugs, glutinously gleam—
in Your incomparable compassion, like one raped
I would close my eyes as if suffering, and pant….
When will that be? Will it be long before the visit?
These words said, the face, like a pig-skin sack from which liquor has
  leaked,
deflated into wrinkles, was folded on its neck,
and together with the body mounting the john, slumped.
The perplexing incident just over, before the john
stood the wall filled with base graffiti,
and from the other side of the hole in the middle of the wall, a glaring
parched eye was looking in.
(Translation from the Japanese by Hiroaki Sato)