I’m hot in a careless way,

Like a barn fire, or a stolen Mercedes.

I’m the B-side of a 45

That never got much air play

Except at the request of lonely girls

Sitting home on prom night

With thin slivers of moonlight

Slipping through their drapery

To caress their disappointments.

I’m an organ grinding gypsy,

A vendor of cognitive provocations,

Subliminal symbolism,

And academic totems.

My vagrant delinquencies

Have accustomed me

To settle my accounts

With handy lay about cash;

My ledgers are always well balanced.

So, when I need a little bodily love,

When I need a little bodily love,

Yes, when I need a little bodily love

I summon that sylvan nymph coven

Of nubile forest vixens

To witch their carnal spells

With dirty talk and tongue lashings

That cleanse my insecurities

And teach me the usefulness of emptiness.