a monk with a hard-on
and a lavender robe
that scratches his thighs
through the hat that he strode
as he follows a path
filled with every desire
and mimics his footsteps
and sets his prayers on fire.

well i too have chosen
that which left no choice
to sing without loving,
a solitary voice,
to observe with passion
each careful denial:
the protrusions which give my life meaning
for a while.

sometimes i see you in berries and weeds
you´re brushing your teeth with liquorice seeds
standing too close,
pulling your clothes,
smiling at god
and the meaning of life grows.

no and i´ll never tell
and i´ll never know
what candles you light
after the show
and i´ll never tell,
and i´ll never ask
the meaning of life after mass.