Jan cuts a sonnet through the dust that lay like snow over the table top. A beautiful, temporal, verse. A temporarily beautiful verse. Sonneteer, o sonneteer, collapses in a heap on the floor. Sonneteer, o sonneteer, collects ol Mary, Mary, quite contempt-orary with shaven head and French green dress, up the stairs and across the landing, into the room where music’s made. Beautiful, beautiful, Mary, just legless enough to stand the unstandable – to fuck the unfuckable. Jan, sweet slimy Jan, licks his needy sickly drivel all over her naked body – poems her a dribble of obscenity across her dusty skin; Jan’s gentle cooing descends into irreligious filth and prickardy pricking… jabberdy jabbing. Tears glooping, swashling lungs and cunts dripperdy dropping. Flesh ripped apart, bleeding, bones white and thickening shit and spittle. Fucking fucking guts, intestines, spine and pissing, books, poetry, rock n’ rolling fuckedy fucking.
