Before the face turns to spider holes, skull . every limb
should experience at least once the dive > into sound
fusion swells.
Someone bites the reed announcing we’re just about
ready; bones look sharp . the balance Yes! beam set,
arc sweeping. No, here be no cargo vessel jammed with
gold . coast stunned eyes.
Life lines skin crimping cycles through centuries
of ordure, risk . getting somewhere ? Who are those other guys.
Later . they’ll doc. file air plein chord change.
On the qui vive . anchor links don’t build sleeves
ceiling high / like with stacks of hundred dollar bills / so
bets all in while the fader holds.
And listen ! sex v. tête metabolizing your turn
off haunch will come, you’ll know | the source itself, calibration
done, takes over.
Nets cast higher, brainier gain ? the ocean rolls vast
blue; interpreters of gust, horns make sure north cleaves
south wind connected | and there you are up
next to new . with skimmers passing and everything.
– W.W.
[ In mem: Curtis Fuller . 1932 – 2021 ]
LESSING
A lazybones with a lust for doing nothing but
Waiting to be inspired by the Surprise-muse:
To worry about Mekking A Livin was
For souls who had no trust in the Lord’s graces.
*NOR did Lessing think himself religious, save
In the radical sense of tending a link
With his breathing’s solar-ethereal roots:
His Lord was simply Earth’s nearest star, her resident
God, kite-anchor of the day’s light, that present
Which he feels it would be Baad Mannuhs to leave,
Like a boat that has brought you this far, unmoored
(from “Charon’s Anchors” by Brian Chan)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 