Mest lästa ▸
akchiis
i reach deep into the layers
of your being and tap into the
deep tangles of fleshy heartstrings
to feel your heartbeat through
vulnerable skin, fingers barely
grasping that ba-thump-ba-thump
in my embrace. i hold that small
ember in my palm as if it was a precious
wonder; and as the tricoloured rain
dances right before my eyes, and
the sunlight rips a tear in the artificially
darkened sky, i find myself melting
into your steady rhythm, my own melody
fitting right into yours, synced syncopation
of a duality intertwined almost into canon —
my world isolates that noisy beating
Drum on your drums, batter on your banjoes,
sob on the long cool winding saxophones.
Go to it, O jazzmen.
Sling your knuckles on the bottoms of the happy
tin pans, let your trombones ooze, and go hushahusha
-hush with the slippery sand-paper.
Moan like an autumn wind high in the lonesome treetops,
moan soft like you wanted somebody terrible,
cry like a racing car slipping away from a motorcycle
cop, bang-bang! you jazzmen, bang altogether drums,
traps, banjoes, horns, tin cans — make two people fight
on the top of a stairway and scratch each other's eyes
in a clinch tumbling down the stairs.
Can the rough stuff . . . now a Mississippi steamboat
pushes up the night river with a hoo-hoo-hoo-oo . . .