when i sat down to write i was poor
and when i rise i'll be poorer still
it was my will and your condition
and with the permission of sarasvati
and with her white body, draped in
sapphire and my naked flesh
dealt out in you
i am the artist

you are the artist
with michelangelo face
and hair that smells like marijauna
you are the flower
i'm the fauna
opening
opening to you
and this badly done poetry
is better than yeats or keats
because
it is done by me