The Doll Maker's Tale
O’, master–I’ve painted,
Painted all upon your
Wooden dolls.
Beneath the creases
Of this brush, I’ve stained–
Stained her rosy cheeks
Within these carnal thorns.
On my shredded canvas
His lover lays,
For she’s pierced–
Pierced herself
Upon my drying breaches.
And amidst these callused hands
She passes–
Passes into the arms
Of all my hidden silhouettes.
O’, master–please forgive me–
I’ve painted,
Painted all upon your
Wooden dolls.
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