This is a Valentine's Day poem I wrote on a napkin in a bar called Lily's in Red Hook, Brooklyn. Lily's is no longer there, but I still have the napkin. Nur and I were really into the Pixies at the time. (For those readers with a delicate sensibility, please skip to the next entry.)
My man doesn't bring me valentines
He brings me delicate creatures' spines
All wrapped up in tissue fine
My man doesn't bring me valentines
My man doesn't bring me roses red
He'd rather bring me a severed head
My man takes needles and knives to bed
My man doesn't bring me roses red
Thank you, Frank Black, for the continued inspiration. I saw you play in the Greek Theater on a sunny September day in Berkeley, and you were magnificent. Lionlike. Charismatic beyond words. Happy Valentine's Day, Black Francis.
