This is our path, Our Path, the Grand Snail announced
preparing to settle somehow a stand off with a parade
drill of worker ants.
Family members, meanwhile, get
dressed : they can't afford to miss the bus . zebra blood
cross pots 'n' pan strikers. They're too distraught for
discourse : the Parsimony of Executions by Sword.
No, not on our island, though notions are known
to blow like litter hate to state. Your starapple tree over
hangs my front yard . Who's responsible? if crapauds
fall.
Tired of growing older men feel mission positioned
to pass laws on girl marriage, full steams
our Pandit with an acceleration that trips everybody.
Wisdom feet don't get hard enough to plant and leap.
Here, just one Brahmin
votary is required to veto 'n' waist dress down, send
in security memes to lobby the bubbies . swollen
the womb up holds an orb glow for palmsters.
All the screen
pat vetting 'n' pinning at border hems, how fare
slips breed Cain and bad taste ̶ What's the tip felt
capping point?
Better perch
cerulean grip, our kiskadees chorus, feather shedding
this caveat : the core unmelted helps us choose
Play poker
slow . or tango last with A'toinette found on the fly
rod ~ only one chance you get ~ for, Oooh, that
green light ~ peel dive feeling
– W.W.
ALTHOUGH AND BECAUSE
neither happiness nor ease nor contentment
pushed or pulled me in my search or hunt, but
love was the only reason I went
out of the overlooked goldmines of the soul
and into the world's overgrown deserts
with my heart masked as a beggar's bowl,
bliss and peace and gratitude have bloomed in me
̶ shy orchids that sometimes become my tongue
or angels that kiss my forehead free
of its grooves of disappointment ̶ and of pain
in spite and because of which no mother
worth her salt of milk and gold complains
about the difficulty of giving birth
and bread to babies with nothing to look
forward to but the diamond of Earth
with its perfect flaws.
(from "Within The Wind" © by Brian Chan)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 