FOR TRINIDAD: A BLUES
Brand new year they say but sun born again Como ayer (we are in Venezuela). Here the sea still rolling cigarillos promises too loudly, delivering just ash. There the posters selling carnival now mask the Christmas bills, a clash of leaves from one broken book endlessly repapering the gaps in our existence. Here el presidente say to tinker with the fingernails of time. There, Britannic myth transcribed inscribes the need for great apostrophes on time. In time, a pause becomes a mispronunciation of times unwritten sentence. Trinidad, church of new day cynics, talking Three green hills back into bluesy water. Anything is possible for those who believe. A drowning man will clutch at pieces of a broken rosary calypso, and Pan and roti all we ting if he but knows that he is drowning. Wen de I-land hit sea-bottom will be time to choose a different paradise. Here they bend the arms of time. So adios. I must return to treat with drowning cascadoo And promise good at intervals: a final Auld lang sign play mas un ron y una cancion: a soca blues.
Ian Dieffenthaller from Crossed Suns