THE SIX O’CLOCK CICADA BLUES

 

     
                                    "Steps and balconies…nailed with abandon…
         
                                       making hazardous ladders against the universal
                                        wall."
                                         - Wilson Harris, Palace of the Peacock (1968)

         Meant for one part human find . the halo^head leap
        from
glass towers down avenues into electric cars; heard
        on elevator rides through moon roofs seconds split now,
        the nano in billions . bird, coin; marine, divine.

           \ Played for gang . clip^idle hands that cradle
        the promise of the magazine lock | Please, no! falls
        on stutter^start ears. For carrion keepers who stamp
        the hall pass for flatulence swollen so beside
        the point.

        Served to chefs who swear they control the plates 
        and ovens in mandarin districts, as grilles seek
        alliance with blind^hot grids; the root power shifts,
        old grow^catch stock convenience ceding.

           \ Yeah man, the unbeing creeps faster than a plane
        dumps splashings of phantom repellent.

                                             *

           \ Whose whales ? stranded on this private beach; fires,  
        floods deemed omens of balance up^inching; forests
        logged for floor concealment . the codes to rain
        light
quiet agency.
                                                     Still, watch out ! get  
        those crapaud throat^sacs singing they wouldn’t stop
        till the feast is over.         
                                                            \ For now, part

        take! as the broad leaves said to the elephant passing
        deer | glass of wine on the terrace; free bagels.
                                                                   Stripped, laps
        consuming . bells, no telling if^when | so you know.

                                                                        – W.W.

                

 

         

           

 

        TO A PROUD MEEK INHERITOR OF THE EARTH'S TILT

            Once he too was a heavy earthworm beneath    
        your lawn and flower-garden until he rose
            into the air on a magpie’s wing and breath
        and could perch now and then among your lilacs
           (which he, as a worm, could only smell and dream
        of tasting) and not have to care if skylarks
            sang sweeter, flew higher or freer than he;
        to fly black-and-white and cry cut-and-dried seemed
            enough of wanting to become, so to stay.

        ………………………………………………

         (from “Readiness” by Brian Chan, 2013)

 

 

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Author: FarJourney Caribbean

Born in Guyana : Wyck Williams writes poetry and fiction. He lives in New York City. The poet Brian Chan lives in Alberta, Canada.

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