I set out, says Catullus, for the East River . . .
"We don't care what danger there is, we tell the dead man after he finishes speaking. "But we can no longer be human. We've got to have that book."
"You don't know what you're doing," the dead poet says.
"You don't know anything. Therefore you can't do anything.
"You're capitalist bourgeois sluts.
"You're insane. Go back home."
We must have that book!
We gamble for the red book with the dead poet who becomes a devil.
So the doves
. . .
So the doves cooed softly to each other, whispering of their own events, over Janey's grave in the grey Saba Pacha cemetery in Luxor.
Soon many other Janeys were born and these Janeys covered the earth.
Blood and guts in high school This is all I know Parents teachers boyfriends All have got to go.
Some folks like trains,
some folks like ships, I like the way you move your hips All I want is a taste of your lips,
boy, All I want is a taste of your lips.