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Seppuku

Disgrace
    dances in my life
with a black veil
    and smiles at me
pointing to a crimson 
    Roman bath-or-
a Japanese short sword.
    Existence is fleet, 
and quicker when aided-
    slowly redeeming
myself through disciplined
    pain. Honor is
given when the oblivion
    hits and kisses
my lips, softly.
        But I slowly
touch my face;
    I am not dancing
with my eyes turned
    East.   I am not 
dancing with my bowels
    on my knees. Smiling
subtly, I remind myself:
    Life is tasty-
all things fade, ever honor.
    Slowly and carefully-it
fades.

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