Thursday, August 16, 2012


Exiled to a child's too small bedroom
it's no wonder they don't like it in here
but I'm already drowsy
with the drone of the fan
and the rhythm of cricket chirps.

Listening to the music of longing
without really feeling it,

Write what you know, what you've seen,
a story of a brown skinned girl looking down from
her prisoner's window
or five drug addicts stuck in the car next to you
sweating with the windows down,
swearing fiercely at each other in the most desperate way,
and the strange civility of their stillness and
in using each other's first names.

Write something that can take us out of here,
something set to music and sung sensuously-
slow as smoke
by someone like Sade
or something.

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