No one goes to Shinjuku Station
Not for want but for need
Avoid the rush of sardine tins
Armpits in the thin air
Feet moving, ever so swiftly
To divide the lines
To the left, to the right
North, New South
West, East
Up, Down
All around
Japanese Rail reigns supreme
16 platforms hidden in plain sight
In and out
To and fro
The maze has no conclusion
Known destination is your only solution
Go straight towards the red light
Kabukicho or Golden Gai
Shopping zone opens late
Practice counting 1... 2... 3
Moving through endless passage of confusion
Taken back to the time

When I started to unravel
Reading pictures as sign
Overtaking bodies to avoid the lines
To the terrace
Journey back to the old Capital
That whispers prayers in attractions
Painted in gold and silver
Perched on hills
Nestled in the bosoms of streams

I see the dance to the unheard beat
That grabs at his feet
Trying hard to stay with the rhythm
He dips and jumps
Holding firm to the column
It takes him alive
On his back
Muscles too weak to sit up
The rhythm won this round
Hold him to the ground
Covers his mouth with bubbles
He tries to speak
He tries to get on his feet
All in vain
All in pain
In the middle of Shinjuku Station
Anime eyes catches sight
Suits begin to move
Bodies touch the ground
Buzzing sound in his ear
Cold to the touch
He can’t hear much
A kiss on the lips perhaps
Ear against his chest
Heart pumping still
Misplaced silence hangs heavy
Men in blue go to work
Cornering off the area with a skirt
So long to hide the scene
That collides with Shinjuku Station

That plastic bag in his hand
Puzzles me
His drunken slumber
Catches me

I pause myself
To watch him still
A mother’s instinct
I push her to the side
Waiting for him to clear the intersection
So we can continue through to our destination
I watch him go against his will
Swept up by the tide of
Shinjuku Station



Scrubbing marble steps and hopscotching
That cheesesteak not for the cheapskate
I hear that soulful music
Jump up and dance and then I lose it


Embrace me
Gently caress my face
Let your warmth seep
Into my pores
Fill me with the energy
To ride your rays
Out to the edge of time
Hide me from the dark clouds
Hovering over my eyes
Save me from the rolling thunder and tides
Rise up and waken into me blossoms of happiness
Set in me a bed of roses
Whose colors change with your kiss
So that I can taste just like skittles.


I write about the life I live with confetti and bubbles
I write about the places I have gone that have caused my trouble
I write about the journey into me
Because it quenches my thirst
Because it comforts me
Because no one really cares
Because it’s magic
Because I have children
Because I am courageous
Because there are so many injustices
Because my life is crazy
Because I am crazy
Because I am different
Because of love ones lost and lives gained
Because I have too much fluid in my brain
Because I am in pain from really loving and not being loved
Because I want to move to paradise
Because it’s the only thing that is keeping me alive


It began with a kiss
I nearly missed
The subtleness of it all tingled
My spine
Straightened with the wisp
Of anticipation
Together we will build a nation
A notion edge within the realm of fantasy
Ignorant of the present reality
The 20 years of age separation
Collides with questions and confusions
If only we were free
To exist without being
Responsible for our creation
If only we could close our eyes and the rhythm of time
Comfort us into acceptance of our souls' desire
Then maybe you and me will merge into we
If only


He woke up that morning on a high--high with purpose, high with ambition, high with life. Planning was of the essence, getting things done was a priority. I heard the speech a million times and I followed the flow of importance. I played the role over and over again, the supportive me, patting his back, cheering him on, seeing the positive amidst the cloud of despair. Today, I called his bluff. “Let’s do this,” I said. Okay, he said. So we were off, step by step, on this day filled with sunny hope peeping through the cumulus clouds hanging heavy. I struggled to stay side by side, my back aching from the weight of my baby kangaroo, losing sight of the direction he was heading only once, having to wait for 30 minutes until he emerged from his diversion, and then we were on way, somewhere, through the arches of the sculpted Penn, hoisted high with history, searching for an entrance that would lead us in the direction of our lives.


YONIQUE MYRIE grew up in Jamaica, where she developed a sense of uniqueness and a desire to explore. Such exploration took place through writing: “My writing provides me with an avenue to express that which is left unspoken and so I write from my heart.”