The beats are rhythmic in my ear:
The words are comedic to my eyes:
“You wanted to hear the alcoholic Indian father jukebox.”
I read a book that won the Faulkner Award for Fiction
As I listen to music that I first heard while sitting on dead grass at midnight.
Maybe I’ve been watching too many Hamilton interviews
But the two things pair well together
Like red wine and bread —
Or white wine and summertime.
Maybe because they’re both saying the same thing:
“The next day, the first Jesuits walked into a Coeur d’Alene Indian fishing camp.”
Says the book.
“I ain’t never ran from nothin’ but the police.”
Says the song.
Or maybe I’ve just been watching too many Hamilton interviews.