The alternative title of this poem is "Playing Pachinko".
Carpal tunnel twinges punctuate a torpid afternoon, as row on row we line the aisles and stare at nothing with the guarded anonymity of urinating men. My thumb is on the lever, moving almost imperceptibly, as marbles rocket into space and filter down through obstacles designed to keep the management in business. The captive of a chain reaction freed from craving by acceptance of the preordained, I decompose, am compromised, incorporated by the convolutions of this artificial universe. But something breaks the moment I let go. The single thread that holds the world in place is cut, and once again I fall away with all my individual needs exposed. Japan, 1968 Previous version published in Outposts, England
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