exhaustion fell on this dread,
like mold on these piano keys,
it stunk up the place, still i had
to investigate this electrical
storm, untill i at least isolate
this despondent dyke from killing
itself, and she cries becouse the
cows have no milk,
or the chords have no sound,
or this rain provides no drink.
DAVID GERARDINO
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/funny-drinks/
