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 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 that 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, 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

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