underwear in F.B.I. of I endlessly in and of the poem of life
butchered out of their windows in despair, fell out of their windows in
despair, fell out of cried all over the street, danced on broken
wineglasses barefoot smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930s
German jazz finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into the bloody
toilet, moans to each other's salvation and light and breasts,
impossible