The eternal party
on and on
they had been drinking
stories that went on and on
out of the party
over to a group in the street
one telling a story
about me
I never remember doing any of that
They embellished it to make it sound good
I didn't know how to feel
I couldn't settle in and tried walking off
Another young adult called me over
He started another story
about something I had done
Too much to drink so he slurred
I got the gist
He walked off brams and list
I was stuck at the eteranl party
She reminds of the city
Blows a kiss to a drizzly breeze
Bounces out of a street
She is the beauty of the city
Her hair is the long avenues
Her deep tan is the earth
Her voice is every bird call
She makes the sky blue enough
So the sun can exist
There is only rain now
So she is absent
I look toward the eagles
The vultures are offended
I look toward the vultures
And the eagles are offended
I twist in bed dreaming of the rooftop
They roost on
Angels and demons offended
cacophony of ideologies and doctrines
I was just a worm crawling in and out of fruit scraps
Avoiding the other garden monstrosities
Using the soil as camouflage and protection
diving through it all blind
ingesting and excreting
building my lair in the silt layer
Between the clay and the grass above
in the dark richness
Good sirs,
I will relate the following tragic event.
The first of the storms came into port.
Their impacts were so light and temporary.
They came in waves until the stronger fronts hit.
Whirlwind that tore off roof
And gusts that flattened port warehouses
It was like the winds of hell had fused with a thousand banshees.
Bearing down upon our coastal coves and villages.
What was perhaps worse was the rising tides
torrential rains that seemed to have made a pact toward our absolute destruction.
For as we tried to find more robust shelter or higher ground the waters dragged us back.
And for those of us who were not drowned were cursed to the seeming eternity of rebuilding.
Of months of back breaking salvaging reaching the next year at the same period, to brace for another such event. God having mercy, permitted us to toil on in the moderate showers of late August.
I write to secure partnerships and equity in the new port we must build here on St Croix island.
Take pity on us but also look at out our potential as future trading port.
Yours sincerely
Alex Hamilton
Blue fire behind the eyes
Swamp methane the cruel lip excuses
The ritual is conducted worshippers endure injury
Blue fire somewhere among the overgrown reeds
Phantoms peep their origins caught transpierced in the tunnel
Revolving where the soul is churned to vapor
severance of the spirit that never made it to the other side
Maimed conscience and rage in the eyes a boiling blue flame
Forbidden lands claimed by swamp and specter
Behind the convent a rogue witch utters profane spells
Ripples form on thick inky miasmic water
The entity rises blue flame in its eyes
Unleashed upon the village
The cold fingers pulling out awning thatch
lighting it all up from incandescent eyes
In the other hand dragging the screaming witch
I wanted to eat my pie
To have my cake and eat it
to eat it in the popular corner
With the big window out to the street
Each slice slowly meeting my teeth
My tongue the inevitable chew
The down the throat and into the sack
For a long pleasant digestion
I wanted to spend my fortune and have it
Every cent every dollar still in my wallet
In my bank account
Yet everything I want to acquire were mine
To buy the pie shop itself
Have the place make me another fortune
Fatten my stomach and accounts
The window just goes one way
The glass for me shows me everything happening on the street
But the people looking back into the glass can´t see me
For it is a one way mirror they can only see themselves
So that I can eat in peace
