Longing for a sense of history

Hiroko, this is a newsflash
on wavelengths

that are nothing like Tokyo’s:
there is a shortage of snow, and gravity

remains an enigma. All that talk
over technology—tired tracks of light

bending and folding up
like clockwork and bass clefs.

Every week, I concede a point
of inflection. Remember

when they used to say
karaoke? Now stars are shrinking

past the event horizon; the escape
speed of phonemes is astonishing.

You know how Mercury charts
an eccentric orbit—there are no stop signs

on these highways; not enough
vinegar in the rice.