k  board...  scrape  the  white bone.
Home  is the  heroin home  from the  sea. and  the hustler
home from The Bill....
  The  Pitchman  stirs  uneasily:  "Take  over  here  will
you, kid? Gotta see a man about a monkey."
  The  Word  is  divided into  units which  be all  in one
piece and should be so taken,  but the  pieces can  be had
in any  order being  tied up  back and  forth, in  and out
fore  and aft  like an  innaresting sex  arrangement. This
book spill off the page in all directions, kaleidescope of
vistas, medley of tunes and street noises, farts  and riot
yipes  and  the  slamming  steel  shutters   of  commerce,
screams  of  pain  and  pathos  and screams  plain pathic,
copulating  cats  and  outraged  squawk  of  the displaced
bull  head,  prophetic  mutterings  of  brujo   in  nutmeg
trances,  snapping  necks  and  screaming  mandrakes, sigh
of orgasm,  heroin silent  as dawn  in the  thirsty cells,
ъadio  Cairo  screaming  like  a berserk  tobacco auction,
and  flutes  of  ъamadan  fanning  the  sick  junky  like a
gentle  lush  worker  in  the  grey  subway  dawn  feeling
with delicate fingers for the green folding crackle..
  This  is  ъevelation  and  Prophecy of  what I  can pick
up  without  FM  on  my  1920  crystal  set  with antennae
of  jissom....  Gentle  reader,  we  see  God  through our
assholes   in   the  Hash   bulb  of   orgasm....  Through
these  orifices  transmute  your  body....  The   way  OUT
is the way IN....
  Now I, William Seward, will unlock my word horde.
       . My Viking heart fares over the great brown river
where motors put put put in jungle twilight and whole
trees float with huge snakes in the branches and sad-
eyed lemurs watch the shore, across the Missouri field
(The Boy finds a pink arrowhead) out along distant
train whistles, comes back to me hungry as a street boy
don't know to peddle the ass God gave him....
Gentle ъeader, The Word will leap on you with leopard
man iron claws, it will cut off fingers and toes like an
opportunist land crab, it will hang you and catch your
jissom like a scrutable dog, it will coil round your thighs
like a bushmaster and inject a shot glass of rancid ecto-
plasm.... And why a scrutable dog?
  The other day I am returning from the long lunch
thread from mouth to ass all the days of our years, when
I see an Arab boy have this little black and white dog
know how to walk on his hind legs.... And a big
yaller dog come on the boy for affection and the boy
shove it away, and the yaller dog growl and snap at the
little toddler, snarling if he had but human gift of
tongues: "A crime against nature right there."
  So I dub the yaller dog Scrutable.... And let me
say in passing, and I am always passing like a sincere
Spade, that the Inscrutable East need a heap of salt to
get it down... Your ъeporter bang thirty grains of
M a day and sit eight hours inscrutable as a turd.
  "What are you thinking?" says the squirming Ameri-
can Tourist....
  To which I reply: "Morphine have depressed my
hypothalamus, seat of libido and emotion, and since the
front brain acts only at second hand with back-brain
titillation, being a vicarious type citizen can only get
his kicks from behind, I must report virtual absence of
cerebral event. I am aware of your presence, but since
it has for me no affective connotation, my affect having
been disconnect by the junk man for the non-payment,
I am not innarested in your doings.... Go or come,
shit or fuck yourself with a rasp or an asp -- tis well done
and fitting for a queen -- but The Dead and The Junky
don't care.... " They are Inscrutable.
  "Which is the way down the aisle to the water closet?"
I asked the blonde usherette.
  "ъight through here, sir.... ъoom for one more in-
side."
  "Have you seen Pantopon ъose?" said the old junky
in the black overcoat.
  The Texas sheriff has killed his complicit Vet., Brow-
beck The Unsteady, involved in horse heroin racket.
  . A horse down with the aftosa need a sight of
heroin to ease his pain and maybe some of that heroin
take off across the lonesome prairie and whinny in
Washington Square.... Junkies rush up yelling:
"Heigh oOO Silver."
  "But where is the statuary?" This arch type bit of
pathos screeched out in tea-room cocktail lounge with
bamboo decorations, Calle Juarez, Mexico, DF.... Lost
back there with a meatball rape rap... a cunt claw
your pants down and you up for rape that's statutory,
brother....
  Chicago calling... come in please... Chicago
calling... come in please.... What you think I got
the rubber on for goulashes in Puyo? A mighty wet
place, reader....
  "Take it off! Take it off1"
  The  old  queen  meets himself  coming round  the other
way  in  burlesque  of  adolescence,  gets the  knee from
his  phantom  of   the  Old   Old  Howard...   down  skid
row  to  Market  Street  Museum  shows all  kinds mastur-
bation and self-abuse... young boys need it special....
  They was  ripe for  the plucking  forgot way  back yon-
der in the corn hole... lost in little scraps  of delight
and burning scrolls....
  ъead the metastasis with blind fingers.
  Fossil message of arthritis...
  "Selling  is more  of a  habit than  using." --  Lola La
Chata, Mexico, DF.

  Sucking  terror  from  needle scars,  underwater scream
mouthing  numb  nerve  warnings  of  the  yen   to  come,
throbbing bite site of rabies...
  "If God made anything better he  kept it  for himself,"
the  Sailor  used  to say,  his transmission  slowed down
with twenty goof balls.
  (Pieces  of  murder  fall  slow  as opal  chips through
glycerine. )
  Watching  you  and  humming  over  and  over  "Johnny's
So Long At The Fair."
  Pushing in a small way to keep up our habit..
  "And use that alcohol,"  I say  slamming a  spirit lamp
down on the table.
  "You fucking can't -- wait -- hungry junkies all the time
black  up  my  spoons  with  matches....  That's   all  I
need for pen  Indef. the  heat rumbles  a black  spoon in
the trap....
  "I thought you was quitting....   Wouldn't feel right
fucking up your cure.
  "Takes a lot of guts to kick a habit, kid."
  Looking for veins in the thawing flesh. Hour-Glass of
junk spills its last black grains into the kidneys....
  "Heavily infected area," he muttered, shifting the tie
up.
  "Death was their Culture Hero," said my Old Lady
looking up from the Mayan Codices.... "They got
fire and speech and the corn seed from death.... Death
turns into a maize seed."
  The Ouab Days are upon us
    raw pealed winds of hate and mischance
      blew the shot.
  "Get those fucking dirty pictures out of here," I told
her. The Old Time Schmecker supported himself on a
chair back, juiced and goof-balled... a disgrace to
his blood.
  "What are you one of these goof-ball artists?"
  Yellow smells of skid row sherry and occluding liver
drifted out of his clothes when he made the junky ges-
ture throwing the hand out palm up to cope...
    smell of chili houses and dank overcoats and atro-
    phied testicles....
  He looked at me through the tentative, ectoplasmic
flesh of cure... thirty pounds materialized in a month
when you kick... soft pink putty that fades at the
first silent touch of junk.... I saw it happen... ten
pounds lost in ten minutes... standing there with
the syringe in one hand... holding his pants up with
the other
    sharp reek of diseased metal.
  Walking in a rubbish heap to the sky... scattered
gasoline fires... smoke hangs black and solid as excre-
ment in the motionless air... smudging the white
film of noon heat... D.L. walks beside me... a
reflection of my toothless gums and hairless skull .
flesh smeared over the rotting phosphorescent bones
consumed by slow cold fires... He carries an open
can of gasoline and the smell of gasoline envelopes him.
       .Coming over a hill of rusty iron we meet a group
of Natives... Hat two-dimension faces of scavenger
fish....
  "Throw the gasoline on them and light it....

        QUICK...

       white Hash... mangled insect screams .
  I woke up with the taste of metal in my mouth back
from the dead
       trailing the colorless death smell
       afterbirth of a withered grey monkey
       phantom twinges of amputation...
  "Taxi boys waiting for a pickup," Eduardo said and
died of an overdose in Madrid....
         Powder trains burn back through pink convolu-
       tions of tumescent flesh... set off flash bulbs of
       orgasm... pin-point photos of arrested motion
                 smooth brown side twisted to light a ciga-
       rette....
  He stood there in a 1920 straw hat somebody gave
him... soft mendicant words fallings like dead birds
in the dark street....
  "No... No more... No mas..."
  A heaving sea of  air hammers  in the  purple brown
dusk tainted with rotten metal smell of  sewer gas...
young worker faces vibrating out  of focus  in yellow
halos of carbide lanterns... broken pipes exposed....
  "They are rebuilding the City."
  Lee nodded absently.... "Yes... Always..."
  Either way is a bad move to The East Wing..
  If I knew I'd be glad to tell you....
  "No  good...   no  bueno...   hustling  myself...."
                          "No glot... C'lom Fliday"
                                     Tangier, 1959.