!MeMeMeMeMeMe!MEEEEE! . . .

HELL NO! can’t afford seeing you
and i’m doing all i can so
keeping you from seeing me
and doing all them other things
so making how it’s ‘sposed to be
can’t gon be counting no body else
but this one we calling !me!

aint no longer pretending
i’m caring about some how and why
i’m screaming!me!
echoing there in yo’ head
here in your head all the time
deeper on deeper mo’ deeper on down
so nothing here but ME’s be’n heard

this endless perverse-nationing renown
accumulate’n all in up’n’under our ruse
we needing a new brand new kinda muse
dat aint ah’humming and ah’sanging
and ah’drumming no blues

so what’s left for me to be saying
‘cept keep yo’ ass here way on over there
on outa my goddamn way!
‘less’n you gon be here ah’chanting
real real loud about !MEEEEEEEE!

Copyright © 2016 Asili Ya Nadhiri

NO ONE IS CAPABLE OF EXISTING ALONE

       “whether by hook or crook, political representatives are elected by the same repeating process; AND, EACH ONE OF THEM REPRESENTS THE EXISTENTIAL PRIORITIES OF A SIGNIFICANT PORTION OF THE RESPECTIVE ELECTORATE. It, therefore, matters not how much we try to mathematize, THE ENTIRE ELECTORATE (ALL THE RESPECTIVE CITIZENS) IS ALWAYS RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT THE RESPECTIVE SOCITIEY IS REAPING—are you feeling me: SELF-ING IS THE DELUSIONAL PURSUIT OF AN IMPOSSIBLE GOAL”

Asili Ya Nadhiri
a notion from the novel
IMPOVERISHINGED-ING:
the sunging of the preying mantis
© 2000, 2018, 2019 Asili Ya Nadhiri

is-ing aint always is-ing

art is heavy; artistry is ephemerallizing. there’s, proportionally, very little hearing; and even less vulnerballizing

Asili Ya Nadhiri
Tonal Drawings Written in Poetic Form

always only approximating

             We are human beings. All of our behavior is nothing more or less than a language; a means by which we are always constantly (only) approximating, as closely as possible, a description of the circumstances of our existential becoming . . . Our endless obsession with controlling that about which we can only conjecture is only evidencing the delusionalling absurdity of our present socializationing

what else should we be expecting . . .

drown’n here swirlling ‘round splash’n
grabbing onto soft decaying straws
spilling out of our serpentining maze
silently begging loudly for warm arms
caroming on away from one another
away-ing on away-ing on away-ing
and on and on and on keep going
what will it take before our knowing
we’re growing this what we’re sowing
desperately so arrogantly masquerading
in the glaring darkness of our feeling alone
orchestrated march’ns in coffling crowds
they’re emptying fictitious demonstrations
of refuse’n to perceive our self abusing ruse
and on and on and on keep going
what will it take before our knowing
we’re growing this what we’re sowing
here spinning collateraling aboundings
of our INCESS-ant duplicitous transgress’ns
festering ‘tween walls of our own disdain
of how we’re hustling so not to realize
this celebratory racing to our own demise
and on and on and on keep going
what will it take before our knowing
we’re growing this what we’re sowing
this seeming like we seemings
desolving on into kaleidoscopic pixilations
and the quicksanding haze of our faze-ing
with it’s hovering thickening is every where
infusing blues marrowing in all we dare
and keep on claiming we’re doing the other
but so scared in this swallowing evanescing
we just can’t be letting ourselves to be care’n
and on and on and on keep going
what will it take before our knowing
we’re growing this what we’re sowing

Copyright © 2016 Asili Ya Nadhiri

waiting and tomorrow
(are pregnant with eternal costs) 

 everything else is always
wantingly conjugating conjugations
hungrily synergizing synergizings
embracing in a boundless beholding
mutually enfolding unfolding on
in with all the other things
. . . and we’re here wantonly aloning
burrowing up under some bottom line
of our own obsessing orchestrating
and imploding wallowing here
so busily serpentine-ing in the ruse
of all our purpled red midnight rougings
rolling vitiationinged souls in tabloid news
and surging swirling dirgings of the blues
scrolling faster’n’faster’n’faster’n’faster!!
shooting up snorting smoking it all
try’n to make like this aint what it seeming
and pretending so vulgarly loud!dinning
vicariously dancing marchinged on
desperately transmorphing our selves
absconding on inside the schisms
of serially perversive legislationings
we’re desperately hustling in between
and coffling on in the corrosive arms of
our own self deluding excusings
as we’re rapidly erasing ourselves
“but if i spread my wings and fly
which whom will i touch
and which one will touch me
what then will i do and
then what will be done to me”

Copyright © 2015 Asili Ya Nadhiri

rolling eyes seamlessly drifting always shifting
fondling syllabating edges mumbling in our daring
bumping up against themselves grabbing for ballast
in rounding corners of this darkening-ness
they wilting repetitions chewing social-lations
from shuffling prisms of somebody’s else-ing
’round’n’round in the emptying arms
of our furthering impoundings 

glancing om here dancinged on

robotic people warehousing sundownings
everyone ‘head of being ‘hind of the other
strutting on well-worn catwalks prancing
on out of the closets opening-up all around us
placebos colliding and too scared to stop talking
pushing this serpentining rubric  accelerating on
trying to hide here behind  these old undergrounds

this desperationing behind our prosthetic grinning
is terrorizing in the waving of its souring breath
digitizing pupils consecrated on altars of stealth
the rabid spinning of this limbo-nic prowling
is spreading here shrouding over all us all
herding us on in numbing re-runnings
swallowing us all on down inside
our desecrating caverning
of all us all

Copyright © 2014 Asili Ya Nadhiri

sand duning
(reclining serpentining)

i know i oughta wannuh doing
something else besides this here
and sometimes that be what i gone do
i up’n’say it right now!
i gone do’it RIGHT NOW like’it’so!
. . . but something here in me scared
wannuh sleep some more i wannuh sleep
make my knees they weak
then my back it sore my pocket need more
wannuh sleep some more i wannuh sleep
and don’t matter no way what i say
i know Rome wont built in no one day
i better get some more rest
so when the right time come
i gone get right up
!and it gone all be done!

Copyright © 1993, 2019 Asili Ya Nadhiri

atlantic mooring

glistening sheets of scrolling waters
drumming on in resounding billows
wet humming oracles unfolding there
nourishing darkening trepidationings
reverently enthralling wondering tongues
in loud roaring echoes leaving their trace
undauntingly entangling on
here across your face

by the stark emancipationing of this moon
staring on through cavern crevices homemade
silently kneading assuaging this fear inside
wrap’n’round the musclings of our strides
so these bronze shackled imprinting soles
aint froth aloning for the leave of wet sands
drying scared in hubrisating emulationings
who here begging unbeknowingly awaiting
the mutual beholding of kindred hands
emanating of our native humane

obedient you feeding this tumultuous
flooding here in our wondering souls
with snarling notion-nings crashing there
attacking foreboding wallings of this hold
nourishing the epic will of all them daring . . .
when so quietlying on back out on into then
and now on your way forth on up here again
embracing us all in this womb with its sway
pronouncing on and on of this cosmic way

Copyright © 1983, 2014 Asili Ya Nadhiri

oracular

only the smell is raising up
from the deep tribal markings
on the dark bodies laid laying there
in they kin folk bowels
shackled down to the bottom
on this cold damp floor
in the belly of Jonah’s slave whales
!and we was told they was coming!
was told long long before
eating things for living they cannot name
scared about the night it filling they head
they listening for the drumming off yonder
low going lower it fading away fast
they left naked there humming
humming here alone
in the loud throbbing silence
resounding there
in the undulating rhythm of the ocean’s roarrr
a mama crying there gnawing on she baby throat
so he aint never! gone die here no more
they have to feed them ones
they burdened there my Lord to carry on
and sown here in this dirt
by many other hands
like it done been told
it was long meant to be

Copyright © 1995 Asili Ya Nadhiri