NUCLEAR SUSHI MUSEUM
taste that fell on Tibbets' tongue was fresh to the crew
of the Fukuryu Maru nine years later netting fish
for sushi, suddenly crying old leaden tears back into
the food chain.
can't eat without swallowing Hiroshima, Nagasaki,
a poisonous tincture of Bikini Lagoon.
nuclear weapon shapes" displayed like trophies curated
of context, emasculating history with laser taxonomy
mirrored in shaded eyes...
a Snark is still "handy for striking a light" for
a Minuteman missile blowing smoke rings, sun wears
a hostile black coat, each generation cloaking the
next in metaphors no longer fitting:
the dark closet,
A kimono tries on
It's own shape...
knot's path tied behind, kimono and obi
the pride of straight lines, like missile designs.
itself cooks on thermonuclear heat, sauteing St. George's
dragon with balls of vinegared rice served with sole
of charcoaled sailor and eyes of skeletal fish.