I do not have a Muse
I have many such
Not so much the fields and forests and fountaining springs
That many make much of
Nor yet always or necessarily often
The soft swellings of hip and thigh and breast
Or the harder swellings of rippling muscle and tumescent cock
I enjoy such, certainly
Delight in them and their exercise
And their use to exorcise from myself
No few things that I have shown and that I have yet to show
But what I have most had in mind as I have spilled my creative juices
Working with a shaft that might seem too narrow and short to that purpose
Is not so happy a thing as that
Oh, no
It is a multitude
A ravening horde about which I write most
Often and voluminously
Ejaculating my anger onto the page
Onan come again
And just as beloved by the god I abjure
As he by the god he had been thought to serve
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