The Good Caucasian

August 8, 2014

                [It’s] the ghost in me coming out. —Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry

When forty acres have besieged
my brow, and a mule

and a winter, cold
as Ice Cube, I try

a remembrance of things, floating past—
Miss Daisy, and her necklace

of fingerpointing          Title pages
On the South       now squares of ash

centers embering
If memory be a mountaintop

mine is hidden

by fat, puffy clouds, and other
symptoms. But, when dis-raced

in men’s eyes, and by time—
dust, the centuries—I will admit

impediment. My body
is where we are held

My eyes
have drawn

your shape
and you mine. Not

I Have a dream

A cold, cold feeling