By Israfel Sivad
“Who starts dying… And when?”
I asked, screaming – Whoopy!
“Why didn’t Rocky have breasts?”
my mother begged of me.
Her hip bones liquefied –
giving birth to our son.
He was a beautiful, bright star,
and his momma went down real slow.
Jason would be the real name for Saint Nick,
delivering all his presents on Friday the 13th.
My name is simple. It’s plain – Michael.
I’m waiting to trick and treat on Halloween.
God would make for a great mother,
if He would let me suckle off His breasts.
I would drain all His milk for Him
if He couldn’t take care of Himself.
I can smell death in your cigarettes.
Do you think mine taste like cloves?
I love the way scent sounds.
I love the way taste talks.
Please, tell me, who is in Zen –
Is it the pig or the goat?
I’ll tell you what – The lamb,
the sheep look like mutton to me.
Poem written and spoken by Israfel Sivad from his collection “Andrew’s Songs, Vol. V: The Tree Outside My Window” available at: http://amazon.com/author/israfel-sivad
Original music written, performed and produced by Weylin’ Rose @the-aquwa-boys
Thumbnail: “Untitled (Snowman I)” by Alex Barry: www.blurzum.com