"O, troubled island, go back to sleep,
back to your peaceful ways,
when your weeping was quiet…"
- Mervyn Taylor, "Bad Dream"
On our island ‒ *dot poor land . rock climbing
waters ‒ switch on off whiteness feels tasked : map
word stitch our wear 'n' tears. They reach back pack slate
updates for empire roof sites . not that pissed they
raise fist to represent. Fear canines feed | randomness arrows
village roses mate and here we are.
You could purchase our J’Ouvert costumery . smear
black and pray the stand pipes run that day; otherwise
it’s your jump! our passage upthiers chipwarming . bare jab
jab duckassing sugar beat.
*dot Admins chair wheel
mahogany peck in orders. Who fucks with found oil
who pans its marigold revisions?
Far older night strips wrap around cold
dawn our mountains. After a long drive ~ the road
wind jammed with flute ‘n’ brass wedding parties
and crossing cows once ship stalled breaking haste
waste records ~ you arrive.
*purple cap baldness
at the crown : name batch number melding plot
now ones and nothings | runway blue lights left
on :
– W.W.
CHARON
*HIS Sun-washed mother’s Sun-stained polished floor gives
Way behind Charon’s eyes to the dark rough planks
Of the old Georgetown-to-Vreed-en-Hoop ferry
Into which the disgusted woman had once tugged him,
What else was she supposed to do, the blooming
Boy wouldn’t lef she alone, wouldn’t stay home ‒
Like every other stray from the Colony
Gaanallovertheplaceallovertheworld,
Charon can hear her thinking that’s not yet thought,
Feel her feelings that don’t dare give themselves voice,
And, whoever else might be the pilot, it is she
Who is leading him across to Work-in-Hope
Beyond Georgetown floating away from the boat
Whose heart one day must mid-river stop beating.
(from “Charon’s Anchors” by Brian Chan, 2018)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 