XCVII

The absence of good food
Is a sour shame. I dream of a hunk
or a gourd of thick block cheese
delight to taste but nothing is there.
I wish to try rich creams that put a pucker in your mouth
A savour so rich you have to devour your bottom lip in remembrance
To sample good living through good food that makes you want to get up and bounce dance steps off of the goodness of the earth
sharing your world and joy with someone in the absence of a fierce,
agonizing hunger.

XCVIII

Nights
Of
Chaka
Khan
loose
and
moving
to an
energetic
beat
grooving
to your
soul

LXXXIX
My Mother’s Vase

Patterns of Butterflies or
Popcorn, rich and Black like Me

XC
Sweltering heat of a summer night
Pillows blankets ice and a cooler
The grass between my toes in the middle of the park
Whispering crowds feeling the summer breeze coming off of the lake.

XCI

I remember my mother at thirty
I remember my mother at forty with black balloons and cigarette smoke
I remember my mother at fifty

XCII
The Family Cemetery

In between Guernica and the Jewish Cemetery lies
the majesty of our family cemetery. Filled with the
bones of Deramuses and Goodsons and Smiths these
bones, the flesh that once clung to human form,
the sacredness of their names unspoken, combined in unison to provide
the providence for our litany.

LXXIV

Things move here so painfully slow obstacles and sour smells invade and overtake my aims for progress--a successful block at which I fall; chin shudders
and I naturally drown the rhythm of my breathing;
a stifled staccato
where nothing else arises for the use of my humanity.
They tease and torture a moment’s silent movement and then halt to wait Five Ten Fifteen Fifty as the bus sits immobile,
its joints unreachable and glued together by the
steel trade winds of death
while my soul lingers on the edge of eternal bliss
following the blistering path of drumsticks, cymbals, and the movement of tongue
folding back into a throat.

LXXV

Sitting in the rain
under black umbrellas the
raindrops hitting the ground
like the twill of a cymbal

LXXVII

Hot Turkish Tea
pour gently into me
lift your porcelain spout and let it warm against my face before I breathe. Let
me taste the cinnamon, raw between your thighs and play scales up and down your
instrument with my fingers
measure my talents with your shallow breathing

2006
LXXVIII

He knocked on my door about midnight
Feelings flowing freely in expectations of liquor, camaraderie,
and a bonding friendship
We exposed our souls to each other
Came in close and spoke our truths to one another.
He spoke of a girl in Colorado,
His soccer days waned. I bore my soul
To him and love entered the room.
Slowly we express it with a kiss.
Lips to flesh, hands set free
To explore

LXXIX
Poem for Charles

You were sweet to me
And your caress inspired Roses
And lilies of the valley to grow in my soul
Ecstatic and Happy, I drank in the nectar of your good vibes,
Felt your soul lay welcome at my feet to drown myself in the pleasure that from you flowed.

Sweet spirit
Your bright eyes brought
Comfort to my weariness
In return, I gave myself to you, or
At least I tried
To unleash my selfish soul
As I relished the chemistry that sparked between us
That lit up the room spreading bright, new visions
To the darkened corners where I often sit.

LXXX

I sit here in the coffeeshop
Drinking my coke with the cap decidedly off the cup
Embarking upon my sweet potato which makes me feel
Utterly Caribbean. My handwriting decidedly vague, covering
Up and purposefully hiding that which I don’t want seen,
Which is me. Understanding the folly that trips me up- which is life and punishes me
Before the cold exacting words which do not care for me—and as I look into the reflection of the cobalt black I see Billie’s face smiling back at me
Her sparkling eye is my guiding star.
The road is unknown, but the journey will be a spectacular experience,
Understand that fate plays only a deliberate hand, and her skills
And her craft have been sharpened. I see the light shining on her face.
Open up Pandora’s Box, the gift she brings to you will be rewarding.
I understand my fate to be part and parcel of that predestined code,
Which will play out in fugues and adaptations as our humanity wills.
We understand our fate and look upon the receding tide to deliver us safely.
Understand the tides and ride them on with a great hope for oblivion.

Brandon
May 2007