WORD LOST . iSWIPING HAND GLASS

               

 

           Picking a foot path out . trip over living
           room floors now rubble
. the mother stops
          
only to give her child sip sips of water.

           Try these mushrooms, vendors press. They’ll
           start ripples down plumb lines . past first 
           second
 born, box steps performing . back to the gene
          
pool discourse sperm^pebbles interrupt.

                                         -+-

           \ Love for sons ‘n’ sacrifice, chest in wrap^round
           blast codes to the Peace . @God’s Great
          
End maidens clean set teacups Friday. What’s
           left
to get? Arrgh.                              

                    Emir bare head swell ! we should resist
           the moonlight ocean dips, divers report . bottom
           raising glass pride rigs, mesh net dripping laugh
          
last + Thank You for the Role Pay.

                                         -+-

           \ Hands that cup the butterfly, ice cream
           cone receiving, no longer draw | thumb rules
          
make winds winnable, hips click hooray.

                    Hey, Vijinie! that postcard you sent
           The Havana seawall ‘96?  I found + other stuff
          
meteor rock^like saved | dias freaking noche
           
stars . our best^worst burn in storage . bowls
          
Okay.
                                                      – W.W.

    
         
                

          

         

      

           YUH RAP SO (2.1)

           Such non-language Inky Khan, a creative
           Also practised: it seemed so self-evident,
          
Proving itself the proud product of newsprint
          
Which, though he knew its words were more hollow balls,
          
Set its authenticity-stamp on them all,
          
Thousands of times, as on forged ballots, enough
          
To make thousands of readers want to believe
          
The validity was real shit, but their shit,
          
Tribe-mind lies as codes into their opposite:
          
Creative lies 

           (from “Raponani” by Brian Chan, 2023)

 

 

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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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