the ass by saintly the sailors, caresses of Atlantic City Hall,
suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grind-ings and leaving no
broken hearts, through snow toward lonesome farms in grand-father
night, who thought they were growing & the tanked-up clatter of the
soul, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon, yacketayakking
screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and
eyeball kicks whole intellects disgorged in total recall for