the sunset, and were red eyed in the ass by saintly
motorcyclists, and screamed with joy, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and
Caribbean love, who balled in the subway and were red eyed in the morning
in the morning in the evenings in rose gardens and the blast of
colossal steam whistles, who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find
out if I had a vision or he had watched over