Pray for the boweling to stop before you pitch tent
on the mountain; recap its moves | you could end
with damp temples, worried the climate bitch might
Gresso Retro switch so . plantation watchers saddle
up again.
\ Touts with degrees of belonging play captain,
steer our Walcott page views out to sea | vieux
pirates board.
You’re all set, Hon. Minister | could some
one gloss^check the chirrups off ‘n’ on his lips?
\ To vanish like in feral snatch ! village errand
print warm so searchers launch . like under rocks
on Mars microbe^probing.
New year . halves
stay gone . frogs sending code | peepl hav no iday.
*
\ Uncovered dare you head past the sing^song
At the trough, at the trough elder beards bless
‘n’ shoot comfort feed.
\ Tide extractors lure our crab handlers
into back leg twists, shell heap tabling For you
the sea snaps history > brick join, platelets lay.
Rubble nights we fear could stretch on long, longer
than herd heart^rings round the world.
Coffin costs
breaking like emergency glass . while like wedding
gears to mesh, poised to pay cursors blink.
- W.W.
HEART
…So I enter one more
winter the same way a boy used to turn
a street-corner at night and find himself
walking towards dogs with flames in their eyes
and all he had between being savaged
and reaching home were his last wick of fire
held lightly between two knuckles, his eyes
of sharp fear, his feet bluffing a path through
the dogs’ pause of grudging recognition
of a brother who had dared to survive
one more day of being stoned by children,
and his dark voice that could out growl them all.
(from “The Gift Of Screws” by Brian Chan, 2008)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 