a brooklyn love story: story1: florence and the machines

dear readers,

announcing the launch of a daily story to highlight a song, in prose and free form poetics, set live and in full effect in brooklyn, new york. winter, 2011. the snow, the breath, the jackets, the sweat. between you and me? the fellas never stood a chance. she was that bad. that sweet, that sporty, that sad. for this life there was never anyone gladder. cept all the leaders who led the way before-n-after.

story 1: florence and the machines.

he could whirl you on the dance floor
he could get down on a groove
he could be so patient
and like hella sweet
but smooth

lets say his name was islam
he work in the neighborhood
the cafe now the bar
i like how he smile
and plus i remember when i walked into the cafe
and he was taking a break
and reading this science fiction book that like
was bigger than the bhagavad-gita

where im from in india
one of the regions is uttar pradesh
and our ancestral village
which ive been to
is called madhuban

where im from in india
this town called gorakhpur
we got one of the best printing presses in the
long, vast, and so so current history of india
gita press

but i digress

islam and me could talk about so many things
and i like that
and he gives me gentle, sexy space too
damn boo

so whatever so then he walked me home this one night
and we watched george lopez on the couch
he put his arm around me, it was comfortable
we snuggled

but at the bar beforehand
me and him was up dancing
when no one else was
this is a white bar, mainly
relatively new to the hood
but mad appreciated
we love you syc

let me get back quick

spinning and rocking and
conjuring up the spirit
the girl, she so sick
she dance like a flick
and he was slick kick

up the dick
up it
cup the dick cup it

i can’t lie
i think about him
specially after he came through to
the comedy cabaret segment of my show
last sunday at solos
he smiled
and i like his smile so

romance in brooklyn
as beautiful and varied as i am
as the world is
as india is
as islam is

i wouldn’t trade this life
i gotsta get paid this life
hear the angels calling
hear the dirt crawling
feel the freedom ring
in every one of us a valiant king

***

another brooklyn story manana. see you then kids.

peace,
roopa sings

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