Japanese Submarine

the historian
littered about with war
relics and the swimming
greenish remains
of casual sea

the pacific is a cruel ocean?
at the yellow light of steamship evening
at the portrait
wildfires the historian
stands with frost in
his hair miniscule brazillian flecks
of melted ice
upon his hair. he cups his hand

there are parentheses of mountains fencing in
digressions of necessary sound
and seasonal
bird calls---the
historian becomes angry when he
is drunk

when he is drunk with
a canal of cheap
brandy or niagara gin
where the spanish volunteered
the ownership of california

and finds scrap metal
among the chattering crabs
at the shoreside

he takes it home in his tweed pocket and the empty mountains are migrantly sung
and waspish

the historian coughs
out the salt liquor and
spits on the submerged
wrecks. he is jealous
of life. he is standing
on the edge of the raining
cloud over the
waspish migrant mountains