Mosquito

from by Baba Brinkman

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lyrics

Once upon a noontime dreary, while I rested, weak and weary,
Half the day was done and hunger pains had won me o’er.
In a truck I sat while eating, with my stomach still entreating
Me to eat my fill, depleting all the food I had in store.
“I’d best save something yet,” I thought, “and not eat all I have in store,
For later I may hunger more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember, ‘twas six months since last December,
And now summer’s radiant ember left few shadows to explore.
Vainly I had sought to borrow from hard work surcease of sorrow,
Knowing well that no tomorrow resurrects the day before.
Nor can any year to come return to me the year before,
A memory now, forevermore.

Then this silken, sad, uncertain sound closed round me like a curtain;
It thrilled me, filled me with an angst I’d felt a thousand times before,
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I sat repeating,
“‘Tis some insect bent on eating of my blood and nothing more,
Some small starving insect, merely one of countless thousands more.”
And at that, I shut the door.

Presently, my soul grew stronger; fearing the insect then no longer,
“Mosquito,” said I, “or black fly, truly your forgiveness I implore,
But the fact is I was eating, and was startled by your greeting,
And no doubt sent you retreating from the slamming of my door.
Enter now though, you are welcome.” Here I opened wide the door;
Silence there, and nothing more.

Far into that silence listening, fearing, perspiration glistening,
Doubting, awakening to anxieties I had never felt before.
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And my thoughts, though still unspoken, hastened to the year before,
It was a year of pure enjoyment all too fleeting to endure
Unrivalled yet, and evermore

Thus I then returned to eating, as my unease was fast and fleeting,
I turned my intent unto an apple and soon ate it to the core.
Then to dispose that core I threw it, caring little what or who it
Struck upon its course, though to it glancing, up and out the door;
And there hovered a Mosquito just outside the crew-cab door,
Hovered there, and nothing more.

Startled then and struck by panic, I reached out and with a manic
Motion, closed my hand around the handle and drew shut the open door,
But my effort was not heeded, for the insect, unimpeded,
Flew into the truck and speeded to the handle of the door,
And there it perched upon the handle of my foreman’s crew-cab door,
Perched and sat, and nothing more.

This Mosquito then was steering my sad fancy into sneering
By its nature and intent and by the countenance it wore.
So I said, “Though you’ve gained entry, surely I’m no royal sentry,
Admitting only insect gentry through this stately crew-cab door.
Tell me what thy lordly name is, that thou dare disturb my door.”
Quoth the Mosquito, “Nevermore.”

Much I marveled this ungainly bug to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore.
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing on the handle of a door,
Bug or beast upon the handle of his foreman’s crew-cab door,
With such a name as “Nevermore.”

But the Mosquito, sitting lonely on that handle, uttered only
That one word, as if its soul in that one word did it outpour.
Nothing further then it uttered, not a wing it flicked or fluttered,
‘Til I scarcely more than muttered, “Other times have flown before,
In a moment it will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.”
Then the bug said, “Nevermore.”

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “What it utters is its only stock and store,
Found through some freakish mutation, or perhaps hallucination
Or my mad imagination conjured up that ‘Nevermore.’”
My reason dared me to discover how I heard that ‘Nevermore.’
My sanity this burden bore.

But no answer still was given, and as I was fixed and driven,
I puzzled further at the nature of this insect on my door.
Farther then from reason sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy into fancy, thinking what this insect on my door,
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous insect on my door
Meant in saying, “Nevermore.”

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To that bug whose beady eyes now burned into my bosom’s core.
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the head-rest’s plastic lining, and as they had moments before,
My fancied thoughts soon wandered back to that elated year before,
Which would return, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, as my excited nerves grew tenser,
As in my mind I cultured malice for that insect on my door.
“Wretch!” I spat, “What God has made thee? What silver coin the devil paid thee?
Get thee from my sight and fade thee, like my memories of before!
Take with thee this crippled quandary and forget the year before!”
Quoth the Mosquito, “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “Thing of evil! Prophet still, if bug or devil!
Whether tempter sent or whether coughed up from this clear-cut’s core,
Desolate yet all undaunted, in this forest-land enchanted,
In this truck by horror haunted, tell me truly I implore,
Will that year ever return? Tell me, tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Mosquito, “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “Thing of evil! Prophet still, if bug or devil!
By this nature all around us, the only god we both adore,
Tell this soul replete with sorrow if upon another morrow
I will be able to borrow bliss from memories of before,
Memories of that rare and radiant, lovely, lost, and thus lamented year before.
Quoth the Mosquito, “Nevermore.”

“Be that word our sign of parting, bug or fiend!” I shrieked upstarting;
“Get thee back into the wreckage of this tortured clear-cut’s core!
Leave no red welt as a token of the lie thy soul has spoken,
Leave my loneliness unbroken! Quit the handle of my door!
Take thy proboscis from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
Quoth the Mosquito, “Nevermore.”

And the Mosquito, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the lustrous chrome handle of my foreman’s crew-cab door,
And its eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the sunlight o’er it streaming throws its shadow on the floor.
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor,
Shall be lifted – nevermore.

credits

from Rapconteur, released July 15, 2010

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Baba Brinkman New York, New York

Canadian hip-hop with an intellectual bent, nothing but sexy beats and sumptuous brain food.

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