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to see the postcard's flipside and more by Rob Wilson

 

FEAR OVER THE ALA WAI

I sit here in the white room of fear.
I can watch the moonlight fall into the canal, the dirty canal.
I would walk out but the streets are scattered in fear,
the streets without walls or ears.
I would walk out but I fear the moonlight shimmering,
I fear the moonlight falling into a room without me there.

I sit here in the white room of fear.
I can watch the fear falling into the room of many ears,
the room of roaches, lizards, ferns, the one sleeping Buddha
for whom the canal is sentient brother, the dirty canal.
I would walk out to Waikiki but the lights the many neon lights
spell Ambassador spell Sheraton spell Chevron spell Ilikai,

scare me back into the white room of fear where I can sit
in the Hawaiian Monarch and watch the moonlight
fall into the dirty canal where
couples stroll to their white rooms of fear in their
lotioned flowered bodies to the white room of fear.

I would walk out but too many people walk past my fear to Hula's,
to Pancho's, to the Kuhio Cinema, to the darkened rooms of fear.
I would walk out through the windows of fear break the spell

but the fear the fear is falling everywhere in the moonlight in the diesel air
out to coffee or a beer but the moonlight is falling into my room with its fear and I want the fear to fall
I want the rooms to shimmer with more than my own fear
with the moon's fear the summer's fear the city's fear of
rape or robbery, the smashed-in head
in the night of the average city dread when the moonlight
falls into the window when nobody calls but the
telephone is touched in the moonlight
fear in a glass of speckled water
the chlorine fear the nitrate fear the hot dogs fear the
coke fear the eggs fear the air conditioner fear,
the fear falling into the room

I want to leave this fear but the room is white and moonlit,
the hotel room is home, a home.
I can see the old moonlight fall into the dirty canal
by the palms like wild cats in the white moonlight
in the radiance of fear.

Rob Wilson