By Michael H. Brownstein
-after Amerigo Vespucci and his quest to be named for something
The obituary is already written for the giant women,
not as large as trees, but small houses in Venice or Madrid.
They come to the beach naked, and we travel among them
before moving down the coastline to where the cannibals live,
there teeth sharpened to points by flint and oyster shell.
A storm sending us to a kinder place where chiefs
and wise women offer us passion fruit and entertainment.
Everywhere trees are large enough to fill warehouses,
fish big enough to feed all of us overtime, fresh water,
and then there are the pig-faced women.
Clothing is never an issue. We learn to ignore.
***
"Country Band"
By Michael H. Brownstein
and she heard sad songs make you feel better,
and pain,
but that's something else
***
""Anniversary
By Michael H. Brownstein
Curdle me
into your cottage cheese world--
in drunk,
we can love again.
***
"In The Beginning"
By Michael H. Brownstein
drums beat cool
clear weathered
fresh watered
partly cloudy
deep water drums
hard shelled
thick skinned
spirit drums
spirit drums
hard bodied
***
"St. Kitts"
By Michael H. Brownstein
houses share walls of wood and tin,
roofs overlap, public baths and sinks,
fish cleaned by the ocean on sidewalks,
vegetables offered in open stalls like sores,
water run-off to the Carribean Sea.
everywhere a people of knives,
quick sunsets, builders and makers,
guides and walkers, sugar cane
and sugar cane and sugar cane
and farmers of sugar cane