said Coyote, exasperatedly

More tunes and photos are in the works. Meanwhile, I present two twentieth-century gems with crispy contours and gooey centers:


COYOTE AND THE HEDGEHOG


One day Coyote was walking in the woods when he saw Hedgehog. The hedgehog was hungry, but Coyote didn't know it. But Hedgehog had an idea.

"What are you doing?" asked Coyote.

"I am sitting on my eggs," replied Hedgehog.

"But hedgehogs don't lay eggs!" shouted coyote.

"I do."

"How do you do it?"

"Go get some eggs and sit on them."

"Okay."

So Coyote did this and never ate. Soon Coyote died of hunger. The hedgehog ate him.


The moral is:

Don't listen to hungry hedgehogs.


Abbie Feinstein



Dawn


Dawn in New York has
four columns of mire
and a hurricane of black pigeons
splashing in the putrid waters.
Dawn in New York groans
on enormous fire escapes
searching between the angles
for spikenards of drafted anguish.
Dawn arrives and no one receives it in his mouth
because tomorrow and hope are impossible there:
sometimes the furious swarming coins
penetrate like drills and devour abandoned children.
Those who go out early know in their bones
there will be no paradise or loves that bloom and die:
they know they will be mired in numbers and laws,
in mindless games, in fruitless labors.
The light is buried under chains and noises
in an impudent challenge of rootless science.
And crowds stagger sleeplessly through the boroughs
as if they had just escaped a shipwreck of blood.


Federico Garcia Lorca