Each place has a rhythm

and this rhythm

travels through

diagonally up the streets

whispers in my ear

down my neck

like its own band

we travel

and hear the corn coming off the husk

as musical notes

and the prayer sermons as drum beats

08 Jun This entry was published on June 8, 2011 at 3:39 am and is filed under Poetry by Jessie. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.