NUDE SKETCH – 27
That poor (‘lidtle-richish’, as she tagged herself) landlady
Could have no imagination for the minds of the likes
(Unique, but also types) of Raimonde, and i’m afraid he
– for all his allegiance to outsiders from kikes to dykes
To street-beggars (whom even the best kikes and dykes, who should
Feel something for their fellow outsiders, blandly ignore
And sometimes righteously refuse a cent – ‘for their own good’) –
Had no patience (his time was always running out some door
– Of urgent anxiety ever about to be closed)
For this latest of widows who would have him for a son,
Although (because?) he didn’t want to be one. He supposed
She felt sorry for him.
..
For balancing their centres of heads and hearts, cocks and cunts
And every other polarity of experience
SKETCH – 28
– Speaking of which, how did Winterkiss find the time to fuse
His two careers of resident duncehood as regards dense
Earthbound commonsensical matters, and of hesitant
Confidence in the face of finer things-not-things that can’t
Be ignored, since they’ve no respect for what you think you want,
But nudge and tickle and turn you beyond all self-defense?
Things-not-things might overwhelm, but things-things demanded:
– 29
Ah, distraction!, Raimonde now with quasi-nostallgia thought,
If only he could afford to indulge that blinking thing
That clung to and leeched off each focus of those few who sought
To bring a moment of clear Silence to their suffering.
But of course everyone suffers ‒ even those with enough
Money to appear to be beyond such immature stuff
And may object to ‘suffering’ as too grand an idea
To apply to normal slaves who thank God when it’s Friday
(Sed q.e.d.). But Raimonde, feeling out the blurry forms
Of all the gods about him, all the wrd&nmber worms
Whose freedom to choose some angels are believed to covet,
Knew it was suffering’s pain all were trying to escape
– 30
But, half-blind Raimonde now thought, so many people must love
To suffer the tyrant’s racking wheel, and who could blame them?
Its teeth were so smiling in their bite through the apple of
Aunticipation of things promised (and all would claim them)
That the distractees, spinning through suck delickious torteure
Which would change the constitution of their eyes and their nerves
And their very psychic fibre with all its twists and swerves,
Were seduced beyond discriminating between ordure
And gold, both equally whipped and frothèd-up for easy
Conventient swallowing – consumption not for queasy
Stomachs like Raimonde’s.
(from *fatima solagua arterra’s nudes* by Brian Chan, 2015)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 