XII.

Ad-placers carried calculators for their high fees, so as not to be cheated. Grim statistics were never read. Carry. The places, far off and wild, sound better than the way we were taught to be in the world. Forces wind away. Colloquial beats to pound on a drum in the Far East. A sound, a boat, a drum for hostilities. All those fought-out secrets, beaten to be told through mortal lips. Dreaded secrets. All those silly dreams. Having intercourse with an animal. Trash dumps. And theaters. Beckoning calls, with no one to answer. Relishing a doctor moment when plastic is unreal. Finding out nothing is real. Not even reality. Foundry places are more out of line, but they are more conscious. Delving into secrets longing to be told. Desires.

 

        Tyranny was placed beside the mashers. Tear jerkers called for but one tea. Caldrons heat the soup. We crawl into it. Veins getting darker blue. Almost black. See the hair crawl down your back.

        Symphonies play from upstairs. Or old-fashioned days music. Bringing with it, pain. Making a living being a lifter developed muscles and back problems. Why tense to the job. Why sterile to the job. Newspapers print every day, the holidays as sacraments. Listings give 

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