brandon downing







“Now I am thinking of a specific desert

and the bloom of a lake upon my forearm.

A smoky cartoon, of you, ruinous arguer.

Scanning for a gorgon in the personnel.

But today, morning writes about police,

listening to southerners, & late pictures,

and to the bloom of a lake upon my forearm.


“Such a long period with your back to a train.

I remember it when we were brought down,

with your careful way about the hall.

You could not but chase after mystery uses.

At the skylight, was Lisa painterly? Was it Julie?

Those pairs of eyes grated the floors.

Was nothing but clamor of the pines.”





“And I know it. I know what to make of this.

Where the learning senses go on creepy patrol,

the curtain fights the cavern, nothing breaks up…it is

backward truck. What do I make now? Actor’s pinnacle.

Always eats with you & feels the safety. A Fountain

of Tricks of the Mind. Or an Aerosol of Light!

And still my learning senses strike out.

I shall bring this knowledge to New England…”





“But when I leave the trophy is tired!

Fast a family is closing in.

And I’m in love with Luis and Maria…

Love is perhaps the scientific rescuer,

For horrific burdens pack the streets.

Lovers are oxidized but are not lost.

Love tears a path through the hexagons…

& our animal corner lets itself in curtains

Having itself only to be dropped & released,

a dialectic experiment covering your brightness.”





“Wow, now the network has a real star!

This star eats everything, chickens

and fighters. But my quiet also cloaks

your beautiful face, never destroyed…

Anthologists shall not sever my tracks:

may diamonds pour from their Chryslers

onto the spiral soil at Abu-Simel,

relief from this is ageless as the grid.

Their brunette faces make intersection’s palace.

But a lily jacket will rise in the playoffs…

You say this all the way across the park.”







A stretch dispatcher has astringent voice

Ugh! Sirens and liberty’s sideburns


All the way up to the park, man

A woman is named Julia,


Young thing with burning teeth

And raven pants & castle hair


A soda in her arms & the bus

Voice comes from under visor


Mineshaft of meaning

Unfurls insouciant gases


We were only cleaning out

The street of its fortuitous passes





In muck avenue the hot chrysalis

Swath of meeting plurality & traces


Brunette faces make intersection’s palace

Bound for kitchenettes with minstrel faces