You have no idea . base wounds hand sewn
up link to muscle mind . through glass tower
shafts, cross acres of crop cut : till hills of lush
sweat slope away . cane row precision saved.
Vaulters gold bricks in mortar pound . reign
serve : *Password* Go sieve the world.
Swipe a trace on any slab
face on security grid ~ trip hunt fortune keys
catch ‘n’ release . cell riffs in marrow.
Whose bare worked back side steps right off
so stainless time rims pass ? touch unwanted.
All wheels! emission metro grade
Circle up! old village roads boot tracks ~ bird
wings love bird baths ~ horses wonder spur.
The evening wait of island trees ! the brace
North as wind tight panting benders ~ galling
gestalt! ~ audition over . splayed roof sheets
galvanizing, bamboo shoots repost . who that
swishing candle ? Erzu, I so glad to see you, gyurl.
– W.W.
QAT
*IN DOAULA (where she’d learnt shit meant also
Ab$tract dollar$), Qat used to chant Christian Rap
In cafés and markets, and still conjures up
A good-Old Testamental retribution-picture
If you get her good-and-pissed, outraging her
Sense of decency and l’il faut de Justice:
Pour tel, elle se connait votre moyenne, mais
*TO OTHERS, she beams an ‘exceptional light’
(Her boss’s term for her ‘performance-presence’)
Of hope to the puzzled polymorphs she has
To lead through the purgatory of this afterlife
Called CaNada with all it kindly demons
Of indifferent incomprehension matching
Its new inmates’ need for instant empathy.
(from “Charon’s Anchors” by Brian Chan)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 