Now? Why— whirl-pools of orange and purple flame feather twists of chrome on a green ground funneling down upon the steaming phallus-head of the mad sun himself— blackened crimson! Now? Why— it is the smile of her the smell of her the vulgar inviting mouth of her! It is—Oh, nothing new nothing that lasts an eternity, nothing worth putting out to interest, nothing— but the fixing of an eye concretely upon emptiness! Come! here are— cross-eyed men, a boy with a patch, men walking in their shirts, men in hats dark men, a pale man with little black moustaches and a dirty white coat, fat men with pudgy faces, thin faces, crooked faces slit eyes, grey eyes, black eyes old men with dirty beards, men in vests with gold watch chains. Come! |