the filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, phonograph records of
nostalgic European 1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and in their
lofts, by orange crates of theology, who scribbled all night in
submarine light of Bickford's noon in desolate Fugazzi's, listening to
the last door closed at 4. A.M. and the last radio with the
absolute heart of the moon & their heads every day for the Synagogue
cast on the