*In a part of the solar system where they
shouldn't be . report our universe cell chargers / fore
head counting variants / with labels to mark altitudes
at which migrant strains rim over . regenerate.
They harbour stable orbit homes . these stars,
ideal for our island / oxtied to memory ploughs, cane
strip rut / assuming they’d want to bottom sync line
chipping, plan their next move from here.
Ground up, blue on green heart pounding, like geese
flight pattern how we’d welcome alien lights . ring
finger tests. Not that we’re in any position to grant
land permits.
*Our yearn designers, slanting to man
Friday nights with gay beach turtles, swear they could
word mince the shell . like arctic whales sea warmings.
Still, if out there you/they can
read this . at the Enter Pin point try Fireball_Find.
Set down deep breath! blood
stream quiet; key strike babies / scrolling keeps us
up all night / in cicada cradles wipe, wrap . starry
through port systems Send | back space, no . oh God
tracking.
– W.W.
LESSING
Losing it with thoughtless tossing of its dice –
*AS THOUGH dice were akin to the blindly dropped
Or impatiently flung unimportant things
(But all objects aspire and demand to be portents)
Which he has strewn behind him, without minding
That he might have to turn around and find them
Yearning to be as vital as obstacles,
Toe-stubbers and foot-trippers and head-thumpers
And other discarded near-thoughts left lying
Around disguised as shoes, iron-weights or gobs
Of butter with enough time to rehearse their new roles
(from “Charon’s Anchors” by Brian Chan)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 