"puteo algunas veces, y me dicen
qué le pasa, amigo
viento norte, carajo
̶ Julio Cortázar, Fauna Y Flora Del Rio
We watched you come out at the forest edge, how
your mane riffs crossing fields. Needs visors purpose
pointing, that one. Oh, you left stable 'breds' back
there? Here's hope . if Snap! they break 'n' streak.
You could learn a lot more hauling something; we
got tracks you race on, steed work programs . and long
long ago they lined you, brushed you snorting,
up for saber tooting charges.
Good wages? sure, and after sunset you saddle
down : right over there. No, you shouldn't come
any closer. Tight fit, now! make hay ride whispers.
The nights are dark enough, often more than fear
lindt white can handle. Still, brute or brain, shed
'n' bed, up for the jelly the belly heads.
You probably need sore hind rest, too; hard herding
days we all feel coming. It's usually nothing, our bad
form eagles sort 'n' clip.
By early light . whoa! hold! what chord slides hornlike
at the dawn . shift airing what? our sounding firsts set
free . what time again? and how things are now.
– W.W.
DOGHOUSE
The comfort of lonely days
the taut freedom of clocklessness
the heaviness of a dense cloud
the sadness of a stretched balloon
the trembling of leaning
of the house of the idea
of a self without having
to fall, or any lower
(from "The Gift Of Screws" by Brian Chan)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 