the blues keep feeding in the rhythm- BAGS . . . (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 smothering there
in the still abandoning 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

Copyright © 1995, 2020 Asili Ya Nadhiri

 

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