But, having (again) nodded to his ghosts, their landlord now
Had to turn and return to his when-where-what-who-&-how
(Postpone why) job as a retail-slave in a Pages chain-
Store that sold pseudo-books to real folk who liked reading less
Than owning books (as the success of the Shelves store next door
To Pages proved: they were sisters with the same parent cor-
poration and spied out our each other’s gains
~
That's why the job suited half-blind Raimonde to a T: he
No longer had faith in Litricher and Litterrusty,
Partly since they were hard for blindish bluffers to follow,
But mainly because they’d become bourgeois products, hollow
In their assumptions and pretensions, all their promises
Lazily dangling from a halo of bogus Progress.
*
But, Raimonde wondered, what could his loss of faith in books have
To do with anything? He had chosen work as a slave
Lifting and carting and shoving and shelving what was called
‘Product’ by Head Office and the overseers it installed
In stores mushroomed across the latest American state.
As rushmoons, they were designed to shrink quickly out of date,
Shrivel up and disappear, but, in the mean slave-greased time,
They’d feed a few sharks some more rollover-numbers – a crime
Against true exchange
~
It wasn't just Raimonde’s dream that such madness wouldn’t last:
For him every thing was a dream come to life and to pass,
So he valued every ‘win’ in his dreams’ Olympiad,
Lest he wake, on the other side of breathing, to feel bad
About not having paid enough attention to their seeds
Sprouting – which his own soul-mind sowed in response to the needs
(*fatima solagua arterra’s nudes* by Brian Chan, 2015)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 