Muddy Waters

For 90s lo-fi Memphis hip-hop tapes

Elvis’ head kept
in a glass box,
riding shotgun
in a slow-swooping
Cadillac.

Lo-fi jeremiads, fidelity
gone fried, frayed
connections, friends done
lost. It’s always after
the first 48 here.

It’s hard to be always
hard, slippage inevitable.
Ghosts moan in
the basement,
muffle ’em by reeling
tape static.