Little Apotheke

I will inject your heart with art

And I will cut your heart apart

For I incise what I devise

And I day-dreamed you up to size.

I will dissect your world into

A quilt of nations stitched for you

Because a maker’s what I am

But what I think is tinker’s damn.

I will protect your flushed, rushed face

As I protect men from embrace

When men take from me my glass ache

Because men can be so opaque.

I will reject no one but one

And you know the one who I shun

’Cause I hate with great hate haters

But I love the masturbators.

I will direct celluloid trash

With a thrash and a grinding gnash

As though dreams were like my grey teeth

In an apotheke beneath.

I will sit in hot shit, to wit:

I will make and take and hoof it

To the disco with you and Jack

By an apotheke, out back.