Wide in front flat screen vacuum eyes bag dreading
the metamorphose . nerve of arms up linking dark
matter / some common show faith stage / while crop
heads dry rub myth backs.
But See, at any chance they snake ring you,
any egg lay . stray beyond skirt luck boundaries;
spread feather curious.
Dorsal like snapper new to river
plates, flappy breath signals our wish for pouch
friendly pelicans | half empty . they’ll assume.
*At prayer sites, in brushed cow postures
we choose handlers to whack any encroaching swamp
inkhead | wells kept under cabbage sleeve . peel
perfect for receiving.
+
*At night soldier face spouse fucking . barely
a peep | these aren’t those Demerara slope windows,
ol’ house hot airing . cupidity shift sticks.
Which makes for lasting not long swells,
but See, pardna ships trade best in crates marked ours,
theirs | though who knows, plight ‘n’ appetite could
alter
As ocean rise fire blood on testing
course / thirst, vine versions you’re supposed to savour /
there must be drawers . knives I know, right? tables
timing fate somewhere.
– W.W.
LESSING
All in nature, with every unconscious breath,
Are killers, with fangs either snarled or filed down,
With pocketed fists, whether naked or gloved,
Gripping smug switchblades of blindness assumptively set.
But murder as universal principle
Sparking exchanges of energy does not
Console Lessing in his creeping awareness
Of his own conspiring with murder’s régime,
And, if he heeds this bad faith, one day he’ll have
No choice but to cut off its breath (his bad faith’s:
The régime’s bad breath will take its own foul time to fade):
Then, at least, it will be seen (though probably
Not said) that all have a choice in the matter
(from “Charon’s Anchors” by Brian Chan)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 