I, The Swan

I, the Swan Beautiful and phallic Perched Canvas draped, paint peeled Paddles on some thin waters And mutated mixtures Hurl stones around breaths There will be... shadows fall (I, the Swan, am beautiful and I desist In space between this being and idea) I, the Swan Beautiful and phallic Perched Neck stiff, a stoned image of a main belle Words within swollen candies, knees to the floor Canvas draped, paint peeled Paddles on some thin waters And mutated mixtures (I, the Swan, beautiful and phallic! Canvas draped, can I feel?! I, the Swan, beautiful and phallic! Canvas draped, can I feel?!) He picked up a large white vase and pitched it Sharp porcelain lined the shapeless pool of liquid formed by its contents Of the man that pulled at my feathers The artist, the true manifestation of struggle Shattered porcelain greeted back with fresh wounds Of memories; two beasts... naked (I, the Swan, beautiful and phallic! Canvas draped, can I feel...?!)