"Can't be others till there's one"
– Cave painting title
Here's to what gives work rest swing / the scythe right
Sorry left . sigh / messáging sun beds; Monday fast break
eggs that crackle after . which the whisk nude shells
inform.
Soon enough, concrete still wet, new customs set : take
the trail not the elevator, check crab traps when not
on line; card rafted, rip that shark head clean off
plastic wall indifference.
Sky glass towers get built for souls whose agents fruited
trees / in frontmanship, confessions missed / balls
at their feet courting targets any flower of day . skip
crystal gazing.
Bone mass non
stoppers, c’ést sûr . considering how primate torsos pulled
upright; whose fauna ovens fatuus lit got worked over
centuries of blood . speckled flora; snake squeezing,
ease.
*In fields of fission tangled since
core cells squirt . stream into valley, world in the palm.
*And gun flag braiders jangle so, ankle
bracelets swell ‘n’ heat ! you never know with these
summit hikers | fucking neanderthals . back and forth
with stories.
– W.W.
QAT
While fussing over her needy types, her damned
Immigrants and blessèd refugees. *HERSELF
As shiny-black ‘as a fly in buttermilk’,
And capable of uttering in several tongues,
Qat had been chosen to work at Refugrants,
First as one of its non-threatening counter-
Clerks, then fast promoted to work at a desk.
It wasn't just her good luck to have been hired
By a Dutchman, Jewish-White (however red
His neck), who happens to have a thing for all
Gals Black (however pink their palms), especially when
They are nonchalantly great-looking and smart.
(from “Charon’s Anchors” by Brian Chan)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 