spermament,” howls the Medjoub. . .He stands up screaming and black blood spurt solid from his last erection, a pale white statue standing there, as if he had stepped whole across the Great Fence, climbed it innocent and calm as a boy climb the fence to fish in th forbidden pond-in a few seconds  he catch a huge catfish-The Old Man will rush out of a little black hut cursing, with a pitchfork and the boy run laughing across the Missouri field-he find a beatiful pink arrowhead and snatch it up as he runs with a flowing swoop of the young bone and muscle-(his bones blend into the field, he lies dead by the wooden fence a shotgun by his side, blood on frozen red clap seeps into the winter stubble of Georgia ). . . The catfish billows out behind him. . .He come to the fence and throw the catfish over into blood-streaked grass. . .the fish lies squirming and squawking- vaults the fence. He snatch up the catfish and disappear up a flint-studded red clay road between oaks and persimmons dropping red-brown leaves in windly fall sunset, green and dripping in summer dawn, black against a clear winter day. . .the Old Man scream curses after him. . .his teeth fly from his mouth and whistle over the boy’s head, he strain forward, his necks-cords tight as steel hoops, black blood spurt in one solid piece over the fence and he fall a fleshless mummy by the the fever grass. Thorns grow through his ribs, the windows breaks in his hut, dusty glass-silvers in black putty-rats run over the floor and boys jack off in the dark musty bedroom on summer afternoons and eat the berries that grow from his body and bones, mouths smeared with purple red-juices. . . The old junky has found a vein. . .blood blossoms in