Though you couldn't tell if from iron balconies
flaggers Ciao! dockers who lift air station space
for swimmers with talkin’ funny bubble burstin’
veins ‒ Remember? the old plan for dark kin
skill strivers ‘n’ martyrs |. now late night watch
what happens.
More oil surfaces pour tonnage into bulk tankers
that lumber through deep water portals ~ on off
cap tight shore bankers bite drill ~ dress turn
leave . window sill sun seeds fermenting.
✓ So a bottle washes up onshore
finds a fisherman who swears ! knows nothing
about no note. Wedge in tight for now the earth
moon mate text . loneliness expects to return.
✓ Memories like wires heat up each
cell not guilties net breach plead . resumés trap
dust too windmilly for print ‘n’ bargain day | whose
light draws near?
✓ On call numbers globe spin ball
toss tear tickets fall . hands that clip throw cart
wheels, piano felt tuners; cream promise firm
mix barrel churn, wait tastes dispersing >
¿ better we get
faster ready . algorithms go tomorrow.
– W.W.
QAT
But Qat bears no haze of Hero or Martyr
Doing the rest of the herd a fat favour.
No, her inspiration-slogan is LET US
MOVE AHEAD: there it is, in red, at the very front
Of her desk to greet clients suffering (Qat,
An ex-orderly, can spot pain a mile off)
From migrationitis, a disease as old
As the need to quit the womb and kept active
By a conspiracy of two betrayals:
Nostalgia for an innocence that used not
To need to name itself or warrant its right to be;
And the fat Future that cannot come to pass
As Today, unless it keeps flagging its parts
Of Promise with new labels of changing codes.
(from “Charon’s Anchors” by Brian Chan, 2018)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 