I haven't fucked much with the past
But I've fucked plenty with the future
Over the skin of silk are scars
From the splinters of stations
And walls I've caressed
A stage is like each bolt of wood
Like a log of Helen, is my pleasure
I would measure the success of a night
By the way by the way by the amount of piss and seed
I could exude over the columns that nestled the P.A
Some nights I'd surprise everybody by skipping off
With a skirt of green net sewed over
With flat metallic circles which dazzled and flashed
The lights were violet and white
I had an ornamental veil, but I couldn't bear to use it
When my hair was cropped, I craved covering
But now my hair itself is a veil
And the scalp inside is a scalp of
A crazy and sleepy Comanche
Lies beneath this netting of the skin
I wake up. I am lying peacefully
I am lying peacefully and my knees are open to the sun
I desire him, and he is absolutely ready to seize me
In heart I am a Moslem;
In heart I am an American;
In heart I am Moslem
In heart I'm an American artist
And I have no guilt
I seek pleasure
I seek the nerves under your skin
The narrow archway; the layers;
The scroll of ancient lettuce
We worship the flaw, the belly, the belly
The mole on the belly of an exquisite whore
He spared the child and spoiled the rod
I have not sold myself to God
