Prematch, they might insist the womb unveil up
loading rhythms; only then you’ll feel you’re in
deeper than tumors drafting up from outhouse stress
pits.
Some servers toss trick looks
at honour planning | our island registry can relate;
after acreage of empire rain long grain stalk
like galvanize to rust fade steupsing.
This first child hugs belief until . Dalpur shells
see no end to hard^soft boiling; her sister hem
inch wary . their migrant uncle twig leaf^parting
fingers.
\ Chest powdered . off compact hips
they prickle at home plate rinsing. Can we go
outside now ? kite to fly | cluster here! strive
like boulanger.
\ For skulls sun shorn alone
in basements cold unknown – bamboo fire tenders
feel since when ? who scrolling cares.
/ Our plumbers snake
away to souls at sunset impasse, fix then pray;
left right in office pupils widen hardly blinking
fortune drain | ranks close for what comes next.
/ And one more thing : Monday
routers open^cast Sling shots at futures. Back trails
here! Far from your father flower | webs for Got you,
daughter! threads for bead tests; air share, forking
off the way.
– W.W.
QUICK SCRAWL FROM TAHITI
Putting down the postcard from which the man
has been erased, she claps her hand and sighs:
She’d love to be there lying in a chair,
soaking in the air and plotting next year!
For her that would be the whole of Just-So:
she is content with so little, so much
of no question, questions being always
only just born, too weak for sensation,
the fruit and food of a world of What-Next
set in unchallenged grooves too old to fade,
all things frigging themselves into Repeat,
despite the dictatorship of The New
whose trivia flash like bombs – because they can,
so-called Evil, the flower of Why-Not.
……………………………………………………….
(from “The Gift Of Screws” by Brian Chan, 2008)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 