So how does it feel, he pivoted, stretching possibility on your island;
how old did you say you were? Twenty six? My . goodness!
And still a taxi driver . taking this lens capturer of sun laid
yoke to the airport ̶ see my shoulder parrot posts. [
From the back seat who understands why axles drive on blood cut
corners, and one pothole 'n' route hijacks your grid. Or why some
evenings midriff Meena looks at you . view find taboo . look spins
parasol lines from henna palms.
Tree hollows signal roost at some flambeau
road junction . Please Wait . fixed wing circle breakers, safe
flight home. [
Some nights you sink, Yes, let the locust swarm the days
remaining : close! wild coast rites, blow! ashes; service for
shadow limbs in pain. Boxed straight you cross ̶ no rise back
wind I used to know him bare face lime.]
*
I know I'd feel fear foul ~ futurus interruptus ~ cooped on a bloody
cruise ship : captain crew sea sky port frame ~ hubris sharking white
cap flotage; enough to turn friend fiend. I mean, people would
reach to leech
or fathom swapping mates room hasps unhinged ~ fat wives belly
pushing hard men over board. Then there's your money well of little
word bond lift off shore so grope hands hoist your deck cheer rocks
away all for the rake 'n' fun of it ~ ghastly business!
Wish you all the luck of the world, young man. All the luck
of the world! What am I saying?
EXIT : are we coast
clear? [ Atlantis . like white rum off the breath . making you scent
fast turn and waiver. Wheel tight I grip 'n' tack I don't . pretend
it's choice : sure, almost there.]
– W.W.
ORSON'S OASIS
Is that my own words surprise me evidence
of Recognition's ubiquity,
or of a 'comprehensive understanding'
beneath a patent stupidity
that knows no star of speech but 'the universe
in a grain of sand' in the desert
of a blank page which the parched crab of my hand
gropes across towards some oasis
of meaning perhaps only one more mirage
desperate but no less essential
to breath than are rainclouds to dry tongues and wells?
This sideways-slow but crystal-clutching-fast crab
has stuttered often words blind to pain
and joy, the very seeds of all utterance,
seeds whose flares and flames can melt the snow
shrouding the only food the delving crab needs:
Truth's impersonal crystal of Earth's
carbon transformed to a lucent loneliness
that would now belong to a new Earth
on which collective crystal-clouds, unsnowed, rain
that charity that erases all
debts of cold hearts, false words and their cruel coin.
(from "Readiness" by Brian Chan)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 