Before reading my poems you start
Prepare at the tongue of your eyes, tart
That I do not know what I write
Sometimes, I can’t remember rightWhy I wrote what you may find amusing
Could be, in a way, what you find abusingSome are for the hypocrites
Who’d rather spritz
Than admit their worst fear
Or by an inch becoming queerI talk about things so richer
Than that of your preacher
Things you are begged to forget
Follow me, and you never regret