the morning in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to
build harpsichords in their hearts who sang sweet Mount to tender
Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the memory of his
innumerable lays of girls rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with
gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticoat upliftings &
especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too,
who faded