OLD OLD GHOSTS . BODY BUILDING

                                     

                                      “A body like you must learn to follow the shadow
                                        of an ant through the needle's eye of duty.” 
                                         – Wilson Harris, Heartland (1964)


            Fibres of integrity degrade; our ocean walls 
            could
sigh ‘n’ crumble . scramble every toil^tiered
            towner deep inland, pulling straw ‘n’ bull.
                                                        Admin will swear next
            time . spine over riding posture | done! with bulb^like
            face hanging on shape^shift lines; spectacles of fabric
            sharing mind.

            Doctors till now dread trouble shooting Caliban
            criss^crassness | one ceramic chip whoa! check
            the dinner plates . cracks hiding; bamboo wrong fit,
            see our Cave Man Hosting Guide.

            Mass cells?  they tried tried^plant cure pro^folk 
            who coming home assumed assumptions cared to play;
            whose arteries / margin to metroplexlogged so
            who crop nurse need?

                                                  *

            Coastal roofs we rent ?  tenant customs undeclared :
            the heritage IV drip poles, grip^romance; Gao Ming
            store keepers flossing; our Station Supt. waving khaki
            hand gun applications.
                                                        \ iPhone vibrate, new
            message . fossil love cassava, purpose calculating.
            Not any time soon, G'wan ! crank yuh moves bad
            world gyurl.

                                                                – W.W.

 

             

             

 

                   ORACLE

                   If you feel this chart a blank slate,             
                   know that it has been prepared for us
                   to draw the moment of our mind on.

                   Should it seem a near-empty bowl,
                   know that it is designed not to leak
                   a single drop of your molten gold.

                   And if you find it floats in a free state,     
                   know that every border has been crossed
                   and every tribe challenged so that we might

                   begin to map our memory beyond
                   any nostalgia for one mother-
                   tongue or other investment of cowards. 
                 
                   …………………………….
                                                               ……………………..

               (from “The Gift of Screws” by Brian Chan, 2008)

 

 

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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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