MI MUNDO . GRACIOUS GOOD SO

                
          Home from house cleaning Margarita moans ‒ skip
          the glass to ceiling sweep hours : Madre of can't forgiveness!
          wanting every part hind tight : the carrots grated right
          down to the wordless last shrivel . toss no paid up stub
          out.

          Finger subtleties aside, the core designs : when prune
          blades snip our flora even far along petal back; primrose
          bloom thanks hatless curates
. wouldn't say.

                                                    Whose signature for trade
          soft wipes . what baby
bottom contract? husbandry gluts
          in around bake bowls we
stir.

                    As lumps test breast, longings wait . cheeks kiss
          whisper,
No, no Patron! please hold . release, don’t drain
          the pool! after all the wet dressing hands resume the hill
          side taking good as ‘done’.

          Splayed out of prayer our grace tirades . me too much
          blue shifts bitchery to mean . the thread resigns the needle
          fine lines
fabric slits under over :
                                                                                        *else
          war long shovels oven troubles . ankles cross palms
          spread for nails; death vans veer scat cleavage mount
          biometrics over tears.

                                              Tango, si ~ thigh churn to flatbed
          pending ~ Who are you?  momento, I come.

                                                                         – W.W.

               

           

             

   

           LESSING

           Sometimes Lessing looks at beauties and sees through
           Their layers of decisions about Beauty,
           Sees through the bluffing masks that invent that thing,
         Sees gangly angling aliens rather than sexy girls
           Floating around in their angelics of flesh,
           Lines of paint to finish their not-quite faces,

           Rags and cow-hide to mask their leaking balloons.

            (from “Charon’s Anchors” by Brian Chan, 2018)

  

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Author: FarJourney Caribbean

Born in Guyana : Wyck Williams writes poetry and fiction. He lives in New York City. The poet Brian Chan lives in Alberta, Canada.

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