Ocean Skin Old
for Michael Stephenson

drums beat,
I desire to weep

as if blows fell upon
my own hide

I recall the sting
of those years
emancipation
failed to erase

drum black drums
and my back aches
and my soul bleeds

beads of sweat gather,
run, drip
sweat and blood mix

sweet music bares
so much pain

strain to carry history
those years

black night skies,
star-studded, punctuated

what passages of pleasure,
what rainbow colored threads,
mixed with slavery’s harsh red

cum mixed with blood
screams whips inspired,
mixed with noises
ecstasy sneezes

breezes did blow
sweet off the sea
even while this plague lasted

life’s bitter-sweet
any day, any week


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
10:00 p.m. 06.02.08