On system fail watch, awaiting the auditor, the man
whose road flags marched up the liberation party leaned
forward hawked bright red in his spittoon for naysayers.
Is Funny, he told the bed pan nurse, how body parts you take
for granted tear and whimper; sags like fuming diapers call
attention; how lungs wheeze insipidities and bladders quibble
down right Honorables droop.
And, man, the brush pass of disease
to gum, like union members threatening strike, joint
ventures lean to ramshackle ̶ you see this?
Listen, he surged, his grave tone pealing: we were the first
born Comrades: our Viva! and army, we own stage craft
copy. 1979: our time to do ̶ no wait wait, listen! ̶
bare back we gripped the hair trope of revo, break clean
chant from ghetto.
Turn simple, home made for all; tools to extract sown in
plants; hard boil Crown stool flushing out to sea. Ok,
lost heads Fort split Salvation we didn't foresee the midnight
track suit change? blood stain didn't bleach.
Now white sands cruise the tourists back; safe hands hot hot
for winter pain spread cocoa blankets, squeeze fresh out
of shell stock courtesies.
Who says the workers, sinking back to bread
fruit trees, won't sweep our way again?
Sun bells tongue spermy futurisms; fermentories you can't
see beat chests heat jewels become you. We learning just
don't fuck with our curves (beach warning flag) loss heals
(guard knee abrasion).
Green flash: who knows
what typhoon escort wave's now on its way, clean sweep
idea. And, hear, enough with poets colon scoping grief
wrung fame: the people's island schooler ̶ what's his
game? paints metrics you can't trigger.
– W.W.
BRIGHT AND LONELY BATHOS
The midmorning Sun keeps a calm eye
on a million stifled storms,
on a thousand restless calms,
on a hundred clean hands,
on ten fears for the too-well-known
̶ the return to which raises scars
in two hearts as on the broken land,
and one mind sparks
while all hearts shrink
and the city expands.
(from "Within The Wind" © by Brian Chan)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 