Poems of the little sausage I love inside,
Shot from one pelvis to another,
Puked from this rotten mouth.
In these two, scarred hands,
Creator's victory blossomed.
The Great WhiteMakes me ink.
But one lookAt you, little fishy,And my beak gets wet.
I feel it seeping out,Even in this ocean.
I got cut from a few thornsOn the way here,And so I can followThe bloodtrail home.