But does stubborn addiction stop there? Why, the very air,
Polluted or clean, in the garden hooks us with fear
Of its running out, no matter how old or young we are,
Whether we’re running on automatic shallow breaths, or
Sitting in a yoga-pose, slowly becoming aware
Of breath as widest fire
~
Thus we're corrupted
By our addiction to the garden’s purest atmosphere
– A bald hairy notion someone choking to death would hear
As immoral, evil and cruel, hypocritical
Casuistical shite only scribes ‘metaphysical’
Would dare utter in the face of a world of people with
Harder and therefore better things to think about
*
I used to counsel one such pretentious ambitious tyke,
‘Stewart’, in APT’s D&G’s team. He had taken a dislike
To the very idea of the super-bitch Radica
Astronomo-Kanamono, APT’s rich astonisher.
To astonish her was Stewart’s obsession – one of many:
Another was his comicbook-figure, Bedwet Benny;
Yet another, Duelle – who’d fly around, without any
Clothes on, over and through the streets of an ever-unnamed
Metropolis, swooping down to rescue boys and girls blamed
For crimes they had not (yet) committed, only considered
~
She was the seed of a graphicnovel that had withered
(But not quite shrunk) when Asian one-night-stand Lee laughed at it
Or at how Stew told it as she was plucking at her clit
To finish off what he had just failed to and had no qualm
About, the selfish white-boy shit, what was wrong with these damn
Little friggin boys? Pretending to be grown men was what
(*fatima solagua arterra’s nudes* by Brian Chan, 2015)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 