i went to paris
no
i went to barcelonia
i went to barcelona to see monsieur picasso.
oh how my loins ached
my finger nails scratched at the air in front of
science and charity
i wept on his sketches
and crawled past portraits of
jacqueline
i sat in the toilet
and wrote in my diary
" my heart is fulfilled"
i gazed and i gawked
i stared
i glared
i became hungry
and the pictures blurred.
i sat at the cafe
i wrote in my diary
"the tongue is a paintbrush"
and
"my stomach, the artist"
i sat on the toilet.