“A log must build, stand motionless in space…
carved in the sky like a door into limbo
or paradise.”
– Wilson Harris, Companions of the Day
and Night (1975)
Not to be sniffed at, revenue from tail squirm
sermons + hearts ‘n’ hands in folds of cross
dependence.
Upgrade! chatbots in the booth < making
maiden^beast deals; to be continued.
\ The rest of us grindin’ dry can only
watch men run schoolboy^like bus to prison
yard | tug at crotch, fierce peace holding.
+
Island roads long past bicycle quietudes;
the grass aghast at stone^glass mountains ! turn
signals blur so virtues risk shortcut man^
handling; clickety split licks.
Our FooFoo lady spreading fat . hollow allyuh
fill fight follow ! crapaud foot scrawl Dis
Dem Dat | good book don’t scare^block rabble
browsing. Helluvathing.
+
\ From desert wells empty lives wake
in dry sweat | blue habit Sisters ladling soup
lean in to help > stall showers, strip^
confess power.
Ecstasy only you log on screen binge, you
think ? no one (the dead ? up there; neck
crane gasping) else sees ? clouds ‘n’ belief
laid bare.
– W.W.
YUH RAP SO (5.4)
In the direction of the shadowless girl
Thomasson extended his embittered smirk,
Remembering one bishop with a sickly
Sneer on his mug gliding down, not too nimbly,
A cathedral-aisle + nodding at tourists,
Courting their coins, granting some a chance to kiss
The boil-like ring on his cocked middle finger:
Our priest was ashamed, not just of belonging
To that club of fatted geese with gilded calves,
But also of now suddenly wanting that
Forest-offering, Judd’s girl, as his own wench.
But to grab the mile beyond his granted inch?
(from “Raponani”, by Brian Chan, 2023)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 