TAIPEI HWAHSI TOURIST NIGHT MARKET
SEIZIÈME RIZIÈRE ROUGE.
I drink the blood of the snake.
Everybody shops, every one is for sale. The street beggar is lying down,
his head banging on the pavement, his money getting cold in his hand.
The street monk prays, begs and stares silently at the cheap horny porno
DVD. The porn actress never smile. She opens her legs. The small temple
is open too. Pictures are OK. Everybody prays, even hookers, even birth
mark stained pimps. KTV kiss, Buddha is a schizophren with 1001 blue personality.
Burning papers, red incense, plastic dildos, snake skin, snake blood,
snake bile, street sellers on cheap microphone, come and buy dried calamary,
no picture here only in the temple, in the centerfold hairy magazine.
The street beggar lies on the hot dusty
pavement, near the tires, under the 1001 street signs. And the crowd goes
by. The small temple never close. The porn daughter never smiles. The
penis enlarger never works. And the crowd goes by.
I drink the bile of the snake.
No picture, no day, follow me in the dark alley, let your life go by,
let the barbershop beauty cry. Kill the snake, drink the poison, change
your skin, pay the Hi-King master, spin the turtle, put your rice grain
in the orange bowl, sing the song, follow the white ball on the karaoke
tv, smile to the horny lady.
The street beggars doesnt move. 1001
street sign shining, 1001 Buddhas in light bulb cells, magic pot cleaner
screaming in lousy microphone, he thinks of something else, looks at the
nice young ladies, underage, underfed, overmakeuped. Come and pray, come
and pay. Pay to come. In the dark alley behind the market, smoky temple,
fishy gambling, night horse racing on loud TV, endless porn DVD, acupuncture
and poison blood, the street beggar is dead, his head on the night pavement.
The street beggar is dead. I got lost in
the night market. I saw your eyes in the snake, saw the snake getting
killed. I forget. Introduce me to the cobras dream.
I drink the anti-venom.
Introduce me to the cobras dream. Let the poison flow. Read me slowly
the forbidden books on a silk pillow, let me lie down in her almond eye,
on her jasmine skin, in her perfume pagoda that flows between her spicy
legs. Let me kiss the sexy poisonous dream. Buddha is a schizophrenic
in 1001 light bulb cells. The street beggar is cold by now. My blood slows
down. The old monk is blind. His apprentice goes in the dark alley and
open the red barbershop door, and pays the oily scissors man, and lies
down on the tiny DVD star. The Hi-King turtle spins and spins and spins
and never lands, she takes my hand, makes me forget, her eyes as small
as a leaf, her skin as soft as a dream, her mouth that swallows me down,
into the boas body. I dream a 1001 dreams of her. She can suck the
venom out. She is the poison. And I start to feel numb. I have been bitten.
And the street signs flickers.