in club windows . . . fallen into the fat of lack-need to sell a slim body.
The date palms have died of meet lack, the well filled with dried shit and mosaic of a thousand newspapers:
“Russia denies . . . The Home Secretary views with pathic alarm . . . The trap was sprung at 12:02. At 12:30 the doctor went out to eat oysters, returned at 2:00 to clap the hanged man jovially on the back. ‘What! Aren’t you dead yet? Guess I’ll have to pull vour leg. Haw Haw! Can’t let you choke at this rate—I’d get a warning from the President. And what a disgrace if the dead wagon cart you out alive. My balls would drop. off with the shame of it and I apprenticed myself to an experienced ox. One two three pull.’ ”
The sail plane falls silent as erection, silent as greased  glass broken by the young thief with old-woman hands and cancelled eyes of junk. . . . In a noiseless explosion he penetrates the broken house, stepping over the greased crystals, a clock ticks loud in the kitchen, hot air ruffles his hair, his head disintegrates in a heavy duck load. . . . The Old Man flips out a red shell and pirouettes around his shotgun. “Aw, shucks, fellers, tweren’t nothing. . . . Fish in the barrel. . . . Money in the bank. . . round-heeled boy, one greased shot brain goose and he flop in an obscene position. . . . Can you hear me from where you are, boy?
“I was young myself once and heard the siren call of easy money and women and tight boy-ass and lands sake don’t get my blood up I am subject to tell a tale
make your cock stand up and yipe for the pink pearly way of young cunt or the lovely brown mucous-covered palpitating tune of the young boy-ass play your cock