the blues keep feeding in the rhythm . . . (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)

*the blues keep feeding in the rhythm
(what is this upon my heart
it make me burn inside this dark)

bags

these veined dark hands they shrivelling
in the hungry plundering
of her old crooked fingers
her shopping cart loaded it full
of rescued things
tied up in the arms
of her many little strings
silver aged trolley whose shine done gone
mumbling words grumbling ‘round
in thick lipped jaws wit snuff dripping down
‘neath the smile smothered there
in the still abandoned yearning
of her tird brown eyes
her losing what her finding 
in the belly of this night
‘cause the wheels wobbling ‘round
us bumping here ‘gainst the ground
her squat’n there by herself
nobody somewhere
big wide bottom hips fart’n bare
for all those flies they hurrying there
looking on they going pretending no care
swallowing the syrupy spell
of this vulgar smell
slobbering mouths their hands dripping full
holding our breath
while her moving her bowels

the blues keep feeding in the rhythm
(what is this upon my heart
it make me burn inside this dark)

the grave

this armless night is swollen in silence
and sudden echoes of broken glass
muffled in lowly mumblings
of drunken body screams
twisted dark faces surrender
frozen in the pain of having to breathe
and no one is ever here or even near
the ears are closed for all to hear
eyes they stare and on they stare
always there at what they stare

the blues keep feeding in the rhythm
(what is this upon my heart
it make me burn inside this dark)

ghosts

the echoes of what there used to be
and the tease of those smells they bother me
dusty toes dressed in calloused corns
stomping and praying on dirt pourd floor
and them hands dark hands they clapping hands
here juke joint druming in rebok shoes
shadows of fires and fat blow flies
syrup they knots tied here in my head
the taste of things they holding me still
they keep on coming here humming
and drinking my time

keep on coming here humming

and drinking my time

coming here humming . . .

and  . . . drinking . . . my   time

*audio available at www.nadhiriwrites.com

Copyright © 1995 Asili Ya Nadhiri