BRANDON NAKASATO - POEMS

Brandon Nakasato, 35, of Anchorage, Alaska is a Research Analyst with Alaska's Department of Health. Nakasato has been published previously in Vox Poetica, The Houston Literary Review, The Catalonian Review and Calliope Nerve. He is the former editor of the magazine, CENTURY 121, and is currently finishing his first collection of poems.

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                         Murmurs from a crimson cloak
 
​
My heart beats out its mournful bloodsong:
"I want to be remembered"
 
A constant request to close the loop,
Enough to tempt terror
 
But my mind smoothes
a borrowed veil of comfort;
Krishna's old and familiar lie.
Before Time succeeds
she consoles:
"It will be so."
 
 
                     I am afraid of lightning and shadows
 

Life is motion,
Love is attention:
The tension in flashed evocations
inside an electrical shell of flesh;
Is eternal movement
through emotion.
 
The ground of my being
is becoming grounded
in a love of life.
A tolerance of the symbols
shimmering on that cave wall.
 
  
 
                                  Love and Radical Honesty
 


What do you want in life?
What do you love?
The Inquisitor inquired.
"I love dopamine:
In pursuit of novelty, if I find that another human causes a profound and massive repeated release of dopamine then I will nurture this symbiotic addiction and name it ‘love’ for the purposes of its preservation and social acceptability.”
The Inquisitor blushed.
Is a radical pursuit of truth desirable?
Is fulsome self-love malignant solipsism?
            Or the key to enduring radiative affection?
These are questions of theory for the Inquisitor.
I have a satisfying cache of neurochemicals.
And I think I am in ‘love’.
 
  
 
                  Will this make any sense in the morning?
 


He is a disciple of love
Worshipping at the altar of beauty
there, a true orgasm
was, greatly shared information
 
But Zeno's guilt
cry of panic,
Infected his realmmants
and the darkness just'came
 
In the dark the People of Zeno
searched for the morning light
but the darkness continued
 
He drank from
the loving cum of existence
and realized
there was more than just'darkness
 
He packed a missive
for the People of Zeno
but was struck with further thought:
 
Will this make any sense in the morning?
 
 
 
                                       Voice of Mu
 

I asked an old friend
upon her death, where’d she gone.
A whisper: nowhere.