Babelogue

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, like a log of Helen, is my pleasure

I would measure the success of a night by the way, by the way I

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, I can't bear to use it

With the way my hair was cropped, I craved, craved covering

But now that my hair itself is a veil

And the scalp inside is a scalp of a crazy

And a sleepy Comanche lies beneath this netting of 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, in, in, in, in heart, I am a Muslim, in heart, I am an American

In heart, I am Muslim, 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