The Painter

I’m crawling on hands and knees
And still my dealer won’t pay me
Because I smashed her masterpiece
The Donnizetti altarpiece
I’m dressed up like a clown
I’m smearing my blood around
My brushes are enormous
My nose is phallic like a penis
I’m a painter, I know how
I’m not a dog, but bow-wow
I’ll do anything, I’m like a cow
I’m a painter, kill me now
I climbed inside a tube of paint
They say I’m crazy because they ain’t
I like Sita, I like Agrippa
I love De Kooning and The Dripper
I’m a painter, I like ladies
They love big babies
I stab my eye with a knife
One day I’d like to try to take my life
I’m a painter, I know how
I’m not a dog, but bow-wow
I’ll do anything, I’m like a cow
I’m a painter, kill me now
Before I can even begin to make a picture
I’ve got to make love to a butcher
Some critics call me satyr
Some critics call me letcher
They all say I find the sublime in abjection
But before you kick me out, ask yourself this question
What is your definition of immaculate conception?
How will you interrogate the failure of your failures
Without the success of the successes of painters?
I’m a painter, I know how
I’m not a dog, but bow-wow
I’ll do anything, I’m like a cow
I’m a painter, so kill me now