domingo, abril 03, 2011

Filthy Fish Bowl

As the african plays the drum
The dishes pile up in the sink
I am best so
Who needs a woman to wash them
Filling the music with filthy words?

As the african plays the drum
She calls me at 2 in the morning
I pay the cab from Brooklyn to The Bronx
She comes into my bedroom
She falls asleep as a porcupine.

As the african plays the drum
She talks in her sleep
A name of a man is said
A name of a woman is cursed
A name of an island is longed for.

As the african plays the drum
My blood is filled with maggots
My voice turns into a scream
My goldfish is finally dead
Of breathing filthy water and hunger.





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