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Unlike anyone else
Death holds no horror for the poet
You’ll find him in the black room
Around midnight
With a needle full of Thelonious Monk
Directly into the heart
Waiting
While the horny little chap
Waves his sheet
On a withered stick

With a needle full of Thelonious Monk

I like that,
I imagine a smoke filled room and a thin raspy voiced beat poet surrounded by lots of artsy people.

I like the whole poem for its moribund nature,
heavy heavy with atmosphere.
Thelonious Monk is the perfect choice for its sense of discord.

peter danielsen wrote:While the horny little chap
Waves his sheet
On a withered stick

I like that Peter !!
Great atmosphere and ambiance


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zre0u5Xy ... ure=fvwrel