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)