Baby Blues!

[Gehry Draws]

The charmingly aggravating Matt Yoka gives us poems! Handing out printed poetry booklets, he surely stapled together himself, at the Big Umbrellas farewell art show, how much more San Francisco can you get?

Most memorable exchange we've had is when I dryly told him, "Matt it's so annoying that you have a girlfriend." (Subtlety clearly isn't my strong point.)

He paused for a cruelly misleading second, before replying, "You know what the worst part is? I love her."

Ah a dagger to my drunken heart, but as Mother Theresa or someone once said, don't hate the player, hate the game:

Baby Blues

Oh baby, don't blue ball my love,

I'm telling you baby,

Don't blue ball my love,

You are a fire fleeing the scene,

Oh baby, don't blue ball my love,

Between my hope filled pies,

And you plastic lies,

You're desensitized,

Oh baby, don't blue ball my love,

Between those luscious lips,

And tangerine hips,

My brain and heart are sent on trips,

Oh baby, don't blue ball my love,

Because a rattling rat won't give back a tale already told,

Like your mother's lover trying to buy a heart long since been sold

Don't shutter, don't stutter, don't even you mutter,

Have strength to be bold,

Stay in the trance as you dance,

And I bet that love will hold,

Oh baby, don't blue ball my love!

Matt Yoka