Pink's Got Talent
Why Do You Write?
The sleepy poem asked me
Before it vanished in my shy pencil
Speechless were my boats
On the waves of her eyes
When the sixth nail in my palm
Rode the the pencil I borrowed from night
For there is nothing else I can do
For I like the taste of ink on my palm
For my lady prefers soap operas
In the cloudy nights
For the clock is still humming a tune
That has lost its denture
In the immigration office
For there is no other thing I can do at all
I am writing right now
And because I have no time left to read the headlines
Before I go to bed
To share nights with the pillow in red
N.B
(The pancil sharpener fell in love with the white rubber on my desk)
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