The mission was mainly to mine emerald^like
raptures, unknown in deserts, gorges green | danger, yes
but who stops to worry ? high for adventure,
consort to a million stars.
Splits on the brain, hands^idle gun – terra
forma trade^face offs . like felling the tree leaf
population; ice melt, owl fatigue.
Those old days of ship riggings . out at sea
dangling, shitty tasks. What kind of human risked
the overboard pitch? we always wonder, chaired
to gravitation watch.
*
\ Up here sensors
catch sperm whales blowing . smiles from across
the room, meant for the stern.
\ Ship role issues
not all course precise get sorted; cubicles for knot
relief . sign in if there is need. Flight systems
nation^tag free.
*
Memo : must remote this impulse
to rewatch old explorations | orbit one two check
time light blink ? the protein 2070 boost. Sorry,
mountain bongos.
/ Agent Vajindra, here – moon
listening station | this text no feed forward, please?
/ Aren’t there shrouds to sew, strip
urgency for masts down there ? millennial birth
luck, happy endings.
– W.W.
QAT
So that you can feel your life has some purpose,
So that you can sleep without screaming through bombs bursting,
Sleep without needing to dream at all, and wake,
If at all, ripe for one more field-day. *BACK home,
Qat was sometimes called Mère Thérèse sans la Croix.
But she keeps an old rosary, just in case
There might be more to Things than Service to Taste
By Form and Performance – ideals of that class
(Of aspirants never again to be slaves or serfs)
(from “Charon’s Anchors” by Brian Chan)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 