Recalling clouds, Raimonde became one, one needing to burst
Out of its vaporous density. But feeling (at first)
That he couldn’t very well pop into song on the job
(Wordless song at that, in a cage of words) and end up sob-
bing his swollen-burst cloud-heart out like Mario Lanza
On acid or Ogden Nash without rhymes for a stanza
About all nature echoing itself back to itself,
He didn’t court such chaos while sorting books on a shelf,
A-to-Z and all that jazz called ‘not spending enough time
Tending to (smiling at) customers’ in Cooking and Crime
Or this one seeking Henry Miller in Ailments and Maps.
~
Such absurdities, corrupt or innocent, were perhaps
Not worth disturbing but, then at last, Raimonde felt, why not?
And burst into a scatting sob, a storm of tears and snot.
*
The customer, (or ‘book lover’) whom Raimonde was helping
To find Tropic of Cancer responded to his yelping
With mild amusement, as though she had won a surprise-prize
Being prefaced by a sung slogan (one of those cute lies/
Fictions without which Society wouldn’t know its name)
~
But when the google-eyed clerk extended the singing-game,
of With a dutiful mourning, everything’s coming my
Way into a wordless waving, lashing out at some fly
Which only he could see hovering all around his head,
The book-lover realised something was amiss and said
Calmly, ‘There, take a deep breath, you’re in Canada now, see’
(from *fatima solagua arterra’s nudes* by Brian Chan, 2015)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 