W

cells in a zutic stage – politicians, narks, pigs – stink of putrid and go almost black – all of it – Borges called it his volumes of black coal – scarred – probing – same bench where W sat – and it was pure – Pasolini said – or, shift of perspective, E=MC², the raw material – darkness - anyway, no more World Records – sit smoke no talk don't touch it won't – except style – images, and another day without – planet spasm – no future i heard – been doing without for a couple of ages – tourism, any season good season – not a single nark ahead of half past ten – pages made of black coal – infinite meaning – best season, had a hell of a time, same bench where W sat – son, he said, when we were seated – sitting at a little table – These fish – then I saw the occupant – his chromosomes unfolded – no one said anything – dreams in a Kinski six-pack – Rohrbach, the girl said – No eyes – These fish have no eyes and no one noticed – volumes we never saw at anchor – the seven or so sluts of the second Samurai – pachytene – four five six – and that six turns out to be nine – a sort of eye in reverse, enough in itself