Blues

In the night in my half hour negro dreams i hear voices knocking at the door i see walls dripping screams up and down the halls won't someone open the door for me? won't some one schedule my sleep and don't ask no questions? noise. like when he took me to his home away from home place and i died the long sought after death he'd planned for me. Yeah, bessie he put in the bacon and it overflowed the pot. and two days later when i was talking i started to grin. as everyone knows i am still grinning.