"Humanity is an ideal," said Oliviera,
feeling around for the coffee grinder.
"Air has its story too."
– Julio Cortázar, "Hopscotch"
Souls whose lives left love wept for return, yes,
hard to conceive; confirmed as if through streaming
"paranormal" chutes, from ports for ever after
right back at you; and now all can be told.
Parent spouse mon frère suicides ̶ they'll cyberghast post
parting knots, the blinds drawn coffee percolating Ciao!
you were there, how did it rain?
Second comings cliff
you rope you down, the sheer air born.
They're good for check mate if "proof" you must have, cancel
your subscripts to vows tight balled hung beards. Shorn for
some time warp retool ̶ sign in behold: the microchip
devours main frames the megablue; ghost, that progress.
Things back in place what's to "explain"? Your veins flushed
lined with certainties fluent; focus cool as particles free
market shattering blasts or body parts going bad head
light the sigh of mile stones; and warranties for night
then day cloud compass needles find point way.
With you they'll stay ̶ on one condition: bar code
the news breath stops air torn resets earth bound; reveal
you've breached "the other side" will cast you: arms out
wide mass grave tender.
You blink two clicks turn whoosh! they
gone; now and ever ending.
And then, cold thighs, you're cut ̶ server headless tracking
crescent green feared dead son holy ghost while others
bath robed smoking on the balcony wait for extra terrestrials,
or moon flowered charge your credit card for poetry
stage lit like this ̶ file path secure; in. sight. stand. up
lift you.
Eyes in low orbit, once you stop and think;
chest beat quieter than target stars, whoever cared to notice.
– W.W.
WE MIRROR STARS
The nightsky's silence of eyes whispers a sense
of human stars reflecting
on other worlds quivering balanced in Light
to whom, and to Love's justice,
of little matter
are our fears greeds rapes rages wars famines and
other sparks of our despair
at not fulfilling the seeds of our star-fate.
Only peaks of awareness
̶ of our breath as flares
of light reaching out of the not-yet-star-Earth ̶
can stars read as their own mind
mirroring back to us all we already
are beneath our cauled eyes and
our faithless deaf nerve.
(from "Nor Like An Addict Would" © by Brian Chan)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 