griot

i saw the deep down man
resurface from his trance

and heard him
slur and rant
and string notes and words together
until they wove into a tapestry
that unravels you as it is being woven

the echo
of concussions
beneath the molten sea
the core

he starts singing them to the surface
and goes too far for man
up to the birds
and the angels

and has to turn around
to come back for us

slow down and break
his vowels down
into words for us.

for we only know the clipped staccato
of man speech

and the deep dark man
contrary man
from the bones of the eath
dissapears

as soon as his song has unraveled us

good luck trying to catch him

his appearence is a surprise

a concentrated moment that will last
and echo

until he startles you
at the edges of your cell-block-zone

shaking a withered staff
as a systrum or some death rattle
beating his chest in time
stomping on the ground
so you can feel it in your toes

and reminds you that you haven't got it all
quite packaged yet
there is something beyond your neat little
packets
which you will never enclose

and when the deep man returns there
you are usually afraid to follow

. . .
copyright Peter Asher Watts 2008