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 right
Why I wrote what you may find amusing
Could be, in a way, what you find abusing
Some are for the hypocrites
Who’d rather spritz
Than admit their worst fear
Or by an inch becoming queer
I talk about things so richer
Than that of your preacher
Things you are begged to forget
Follow me, and you never regret
