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.