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Beneath the thick fir planking of the subway station platform dwell his nemeses... All the subterranean galleries peopled by his nemeses Hoary harpies whose naked drumsticks end in claw rake the planking to splinters or wind smoking about the tense trolley wire their veiled eyes gimlet him; they drag their pendulous dugs over his writhing face and abrade his recoiling glans with pin-feathered abdomens, then, balancing on his brief arousal they beat him into merciful unconsciousness with the weighty wings of their changeling's flight. Smooth businessmen all gladness of hand outstretched to offer the security of friendship and a warmth unclammy with talc clasp his wealth to stony hearts and leave him understanding something about the brotherhood of lambs led. The pitiable: beneath the meek surface of penury their need waits like a beak of an octopus puncturing, ripping, enfolding him limb by suckered limb and he gives and gives until he sees his carcass cast aside staring back at him in vacant disbelief. The holy ones lie in wait underfoot at the bottom of the mire disgorging bliss and peace and collecting their miserable remittances from the wrung-out testaments of the guilt-ridden afraid; the stanchions of their codified rituals sustain the halt with one undeniable certainty: he is immortal... he shall live forever. Incredulous, he asks, "Live forever? All of us?" He knows there is guilt no forgiving can soothe, deeds no eternity can right. Some chums of his youth barely recognizable in his recurring dream encircle him in a slow-wheeling inward-facing dance (Hey-ho-the-merry-o) a vague arabesque playing out ancient scenes in the subterranean halls of his nocturne. And his lovers -- he senses his lovers' beautiful fleshes and coughs hair inhaled as fond burrowings half-close his eyes ... lips...the memory fails... but the flavours mask the hunger and the thirst; he dreams of nipples under his palms, his fingertips, his tongue-dart and dreams the wonder of his linear love drawn to the spots of damp heat... Straining to rise at the edge of his dream the dewy, canine eyes of this latest one fang at his nerve glisten at his awakening |
