Mama held us tight
behind the back door screen
heat waves rising off the black top
where the chachalaca sings

A hollow body sparrow
in the thin red afternoon
Sat on the fence behind the barn
where my daddy was cutting wood.

He fell from the sky somebody said
Though I couldn’t hear quite so good
He fell from the sky somebody said
Though I couldn’t hear quite so good

A burning torso fallen
on a lonely Texas road
The preacher shoutin’ bout Jesus
In the storefront down the road

I will break the back of this long, midwinter night,
Folding it double, cold beneath my spring quilt,
That I may draw out the night, should my love return.

- Hwang Jin-i (1522–1565)

«Моя голова говорит по-английски, моё сердце — по-русски, и моё ухо — по-французски.»

Iridescent doesn’t begin
to describe the sheen of their blue black,
and orange feathers
punching my tired eyes
with their joy.

I could try to write a poem,
obliquely, about the day,
the wizened 100 year old house,
the photo of the tall ship
wrecked on that rock out there in 1913.
Try to sneak up on them.

I was put here to try,
still as Neahkanie rock,
with my Bukowski and my cigar,
knowing there is no way.

“Make sure the earth and salt are ready”

“They are ready,” she said.

The wind from the ocean seeped steadily through the porous walls of the cottage. When the death rattle finally came the old woman folded the man’s hands across his chest and placed the dish of earth and salt just below them. Then she got the man’s sea boots from the wooden crate by the door and pulled them onto his stick like legs.

“Where you are going, you’ll need those,” she said.

[Intro]
Fluuuuuuuuuuuute..
Fluuuuuuuuuuuute..

[Chorus - Flute Dogg]
When the pimp’s in the pit ma
Drop it like it’s hot
Conductor try to mess wit ya
Drop him with a prop

And if a nigga get a embouchure
Blow it like it’s hot
Blow it like it’s hot
Blow it like it’s hot

Kill ‘em wit the beat
Like the killers in the street
Cause killers like to play
Ain’t no Godzilla thrilla
Gonna play some Bizet

So don’t try to run up on my ear playin all that hip happy shit
Trying to ask me shit
Think I’m gonna quit?
Are you that fulla shit?

You should think about it, take a second
Matter fact, you should take four B
And think before you fuck wit lil Flute Dog P

I got a living room full of fine dime Manets
Waiting on the Monet, the Honet and the Jonet
G’s to the Blownet, now ladies here we gonet

[Chorus]

[Outro]
Fluuuuuuuuuuuute..
Fluuuuuuuuuuuute..