with in this what we’re calling space
never to know it’s boundless face
why are we plotting our own disgrace
to leave somehow a visible trace
so what are we wantonly supposing
i’m scared of all that’s unknown
so i’m brewing make-believe
‘cause this is how I do conceive
this whom i’m portraying it is
so what’s the big secret of being
‘cept jellyrolling my seeming
and fricasse-ing my scheming
to where am i following what
does it matter really with all i’ve got
if every where is just some where else
why am i even caring to dare
so what’s the secret to being
‘cept jellyrolling my seeming
and fricasse-ing my scheming
if this is up when then it’s down
is this a smile or grinning frown
aim i spinning or winding down
what does it mean to say i’m free
inside this so-called mystery
so what’s the secret to being
‘cept jellyrolling my seeming
and fricasse-ing my scheming
Our society is being emmeshed in a rapidly propagating web of confusion; and this confusion is exacerbating an overwhelming fear in our citizens. This is the natural incubating den (twitter, facebook, assorted news media, etc.) of the serpentine-ing mind that we are allowing to move us on toward an amorphous blob. Why are we allowing ourselves to be running so enthralling on into its devouring jaws? Is the kaleidoscopic glitter and exaggerating hypnotic glare of its teeth blinding us so dictatorially? Please we must be asking ourselves: In what way am I assisting this which I am suppose to be protesting?
Asili Ya Nadhiri “Tonal Drawings Written in Poetic Form”
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 awaying and on and on and on keep going what will it take ‘fore 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 emptying fictitious demonstrations
of refuse’n to perceive our self abusing ruse and on and on and on keep going what will it take ‘fore our knowing we’re growing this what we’re sowing here spinning collateralling aboundings
of our INCESS-ant duplicitious 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 ‘fore 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 ‘fore our knowing we’re growing this what we’re sowing
we vitiating in abetting addictionings
riding sterile blinging loins
of our automated things
seducing everybody else
on in here with’us too
greasy hands so rapaciously gorging
aint even bothering defecating no mo’
look at how pompously we’re pretending
hustling ourselves with proverbial potions
in slippery metaphorical illusionings
and flatulating resorting fabulations
we making us all want’n to be
the one who up there on a stage
dancing lips syncopating enthralling us all “♪hey! it is what it is how else can we do it’s all ‘bout the me aint nothing ‘bout you we aint needing no redeeming just mo’ scheming and seeming♪”
on’n’on we’re impetuously harrowing
endlessly ‘round ‘n ‘round
judiciously eroding ourselves
serpentine cultivation of this fertile ground
we swallowing our tails strangulating
sopping here bursting from constipation
pompously strutting disputatiously cussing
“just tell me what else goddammit
should everybody be trying to do!!”
**drowning on in themm’d themmings (ensconcing inside this blurring obscuring)
them themms keep on themming mo’ themms
who strutting on out the mouth of this womb
pompously adorning their anxious disdaining
of oracular warning of proverbial sins
they perpetrating with themm’d themms they
offering when to themm covetting themms
who callously moulding and coldly pouring on
through vicariousing veins of other themms
social matrixationing so for libating our thrones
themms fenestrating venderers jes like themm’ds
run’n scared trying to hide from what them too
pandering vitiating hustlers as heroic themms
who blowing slow low mo’ mo’ humping sounds
resounding in the holds of emptying arms
whining bags fulling on pretensifying mimes
self-cowarding pawns so prostrating in place
‘fore rusing algorithming pixillated rhymes
pervert’n on in the blues like themm’d themms
just surling swirling desperating redoundings
as this ever deepening invasive fingering
is enthralling us deeper on here inside
of our own swallow’n invisiblizing
swaggerly staggering arm-in-arm
invisiblizinglying invisiblizing
babbling mesmerizing mesmerizers
so ’cause all we all is just themms
**nothing in this creation is in isolation. If one mentally isolates a small piece, that person will be able to decipher it, almost, in any manner desired. Needless to say, herein lies a most fertile grounding for desperately holding on to excusings.
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 floors
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
in the morning
and here we is
already standing out here
talking ’bout how
what it is dat’us all gon be doing
when just as soon
as us getting back out here
in the morning
brown
squatt’n down
loose dark dirt
in here where they left
to wait here near to behold
sundown peopling is the potion
it filling this mould
with children
rolled rolling on up
on into they self
inside in here
where it they using
one spoon it spilled
and’it spilling on
into many flatteninged bowls
who they fulling
on this what it done
in a store some where
by they self all alone
baggy pants fall’n down
with’ah gun in they hand
scared in there like they mean
still playing dare by they self
with this some body else
that who they never ever seen
nadhiriwrites 