Right under that is a poem, I can't resist reading.
We'll make this the next to last poem.
It's called "Blue Monday."
You know that phrase?
OK.
Do you know that more people die at 9 o'clock Monday
morning, than any other time?
I'm serious.
This is a medical statistic, that's telling you
something isn't it?
People are not living right.
Blue Monday.
The blues blow in their purity more than mines, blues
blow through every sky and haunted heart afloat.
They say, I miss you baby.
So I really went out and got drunk.
Blues say fool that I am, I jam you in my toaster
burning brown like bread on fire,
blackening in the Afro red Cadillac flame of love.
Blues say baby, you're supposed to be.
Blues say, you're supposed to be so big, so bad, so slick.
Quick, tell me, what is the distance
from your heart to your dick?
[LAUGHTER]
You didn't expect that did you?
[LAUGHTER]