Cold as depths of earth
Deep blue skies above
In between, hazy dreams
Wherein I watched my father mix-bath with strangers of many faces.
Even I received a Medal of Honor, for being the only one watching
1971, on the wall,
From whence a line is drawn
What, and for what?
Here, I am clutching a long plastic mug
of black coffee, made from beans
From a certain far-flung place –
From whence a line was drawn
Slow down. Breathe. No panic
Don't let life take the music out of you
It's a rhythm, you will need more funk than prayers.
Brown muffin morning it is
Again in the middle of nowhere, where
This tropical Self does me no good.
I must seek another, or perhaps shed a skin
For underneath my black is a rainbow.
I am rainbow black, and son of my father.
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