HELLS TO PAVE BEFORE WE SLEEP

         

                                                                        to Brian & Mollie                 

            The coffin lift grips shiny, first drafts tucked in
            like a bodybuilder's pyramid sets; shovel stomach
            turning gardens | wealth^check worms caught naked
            wiggle a full face shave disclosure : which side gets
            to play well?   Wait wait, I was juking! not juggling.

            Coin issues lipping in before the meter expires allow
            colonoscopy cops to enter > jigger, so opinions like sticky
            rice poop softly > trade warriors should experience cold
            feet once at least.

            Oil off shore bankers drying out the night haul < lost gold
            fish keep jumping our falls; village fly girls taking home
            cooked orders ~ chat nyam?  No! lest they claim ~ two silvery
            forks poke at marriage omelets screen off chefs wouldn’t
            remake.
                                                                                                Oh
            the plan ‒ with no phone no sky camera – one fresh dog
            teaming shot at Antarctic whiteness; the rubble crouch
            run under weapon fire for a pack of jokes; the shop lottery
            agent asking, How you been?

                                 None of whose business is all this ? hunger
            deep, done light before house^passed Confucius motions
            of happiness.

              Come shove the harbour faut quitter : il on its back
            in a forest of polished hard wood \ the navel hollow
            livid, It broke, I didn’t do anything \ receiving close
            off libations, Chinese rubber gaskets; the rest of it
            Ce n’est rien! sent ahead . far as we can tell.

                                                                               – W.W.

                        

           

               

          

           LESSING

           *BUT, now, checked into the tallest casino-
            Hotel his Visa-card can bluff to, Lessing,
            Guanyin and all wave-crests and -falls behind him,
         Starts betting, the sirens of risk and of getting more
            Than he has to lose (there is no escaping
            His room’s price) still singing their green blues to lure
            His soul’s grey ship from its true home-harbour.

            *YES, death and all that, he loses, wins, loses
            Most of his pile, then phones (collect) his ex, Mo
            (She manages an inn in Banff), who threatens
         To fix his frilly you-know-what if he ever try
            Again to get her to len him any more
            Of her, he get it?, her effin (Moreen is
            Decent: she dares not fully cuss) hard-earn cash.

            But let her poke around in her purse and see…
            Dis is de laast time, OK?

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