Jan cuts a sonnet through the dust that lay 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 contemptorary 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 understandable – to fuck the underfuckable.
Jan, sweet slimy Jan, licks his needy sickly drivel all over her naked body – poems a dribble of obscenity across her dusty soft 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, fuckardy fucking.
