It was no push-it-further-but-keep-it-the same love-game
But a conscious emulation of how animals tame
Their wild anguish over the loss of mate or a pup
– Some beasts, at least, and all beasts might say i’m making this up:
If beasts knew and could speak words like ‘tame’, ‘wild’, ‘anguish’ and ‘loss’
It might well make the whole bloody lot of them more than cross,
They might boo or hiss, ‘Cut the crappy labels, OK? We
Don’t name anything, that’s one verb (and we’re all verbs) we see
No need for in the unfolding of our glowing knowing’
– Or rowds to that teffec
~
Raimonde agreed with (his version of) Jesus
That it’s our speech that defiles us – this not said to squeeze us
Into even more represssive ssself cccensorshhhip than what
Already plagues the law-abiding mob of silence – that
Majority that elects silence’s loud guardians
*
So, rather than indulge in any moral diatribe
Against the gal who obviously thought her shit super-
ior to his own (for what can like or dislike do for
Anyone interested in disinterested clarity?
[But persons of Taste think that notion sheer hypocrisy]),
Winterkiss chose to walk away with a grin on his face
~
After all, to be scorned by gracelessness was no disgrace
But a shadow-confirmation of his fertile function
As a necessary nuisance or ‘negative’ unction
To the wounds of prideful losership pretending to be
Active virtues walking around as good citizenry
– Whose membership needed outsiders by contrast to prove
Its exclusive identity – like a singular glove
That fits but one hand, other gloves a mere intruder-trove.
(from *fatima solagua arterra’s nudes* by Brian Chan)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 