The Soft Machine

K9 took off his hat respectfully and covered his gun with it—He had stuffed the hat with the Green Boy's heavy silk scarf—a crude silencer but there was nobody in the alley—It wasn't healthy to be within earshot when the Broker had business with anyone—He stood with the hat an inch from the Broker's mid section— He looked into the cold grey eyes—

'Everything is just fine,' he said—

And pumped three Police Specials into the massive stomach hard as a Japanese wrestler—The Broker's mouth flew open sucking for breath that did not come— K9 gave him three more and stepped aside—The Broker folded, slid along a wall and flopped face up his eyes glazing over—Lee dropped the burning hat and scarf on a pile of excrement and walked out of the alley powder smoke drifting from his cheap European suit— He walked toward flesh of Spain and Piccadilly—

'Wind hand to the hilt—Fed up you understand until I die—Work we have to do and way got the job—End getting to know whose reports are now ended—'One more change,' he said, 'touching circumstance'—Have you still—Come back to the Spanish bait it's curtains under his blotter.'

Who? Quien es?—Question is far away—In this hotel room you are writing whiffs of Spain—Boy stretches a leg—His cock flipped out in the kerosene lamp—sputter of burning insect wings—

Heard the sea—tin shack over the mud flats—erogenous holes and pepper smells—

In the sun at noon shirt open as his pants dropped— lay on his stomach and produced a piece of soap— rubbed the soap in—He gasped and moved with it—whiffs of his feet in the warm summer afternoon—

Who? Quien es? It can only be the end of the world ahead loud and clear—

Kiki steps forward on faded photo—pants slipping down legs with a wriggle stood naked spitting on his hands —Shot a bucket grinning—over the whispering tide flats youths in the act, pants down, bare feet in dog's excrement—Street smells of the world siphoned back red-and-white T-shirt to brown Johnny—that stale dawn smell of naked sleep under the ceiling fan— Shoved him over on his stomach kicking with slow pleasure—

'Hooded dead gibber in the turnstile—What used to be me is backward sound track—fossil orgasm kneeling to inane cooperation.' wind through the pissoir— ' J'aime ces types vicieux qu'ici montrent la bite'— green place by the water pipe—dead leaves caught in pubic hairs—'Come and jack off—

1929'—Woke in stale smell of vending machines—The boy with grey flannel pants stood there grinning a few inches in his hand— Shadow cars and wind through other flesh—came to World's End. Brief boy on screen revolving lips and pants and forgotten hands in countries of the world—

On the sea wall met a boy in red-and-white T-shirt under a circling albatross—'Me Brown Meester?'— warm rain on the iron roof—The boy peeled his stale underwear—Identical erection flipped out in kerosene lamp—The boy jumped on the bed, slapped his thighs: 'I screw Johnny up ass? Asi como perros'— Rectums merging to idiot Mambo—one boy naked in Panama dawn wind

—

In the hyacinths the Green Boys smile—Rotting music trailing vines and birdcalls through remote dreamy lands —The initiate awoke in that stale summer dawn smell, suitcases all open on a brass bed in Mexico—In the shower a Mexican about twenty, rectums naked, smell of carbolic soap and barrack toilets—

Trails my summer dawn wind in other flesh strung together on scar impressions of young Panama night— pictures exploded in the kerosene lamp—open shirt flapping in the pissoir—cock flipped out and up— water from his face—sex tingled in the boy's slender tight ass—

'You wanta screw me?'

'Breathe in, Johnny—Here goes—'

They was ripe for the plucking forgot way back yonder in the corn hole—lost in little scraps of delight and burning scrolls—through the open window trailing swamp smells and old newspapers—

rectums naked in whiffs of raw meat—genital smells of the two bodies merge in shared meals and belches of institution cooking—spectral smell of empty condoms down along penny arcades and mirrors—Forgotten shadow actor walks beside you—mountain wind of Saturn in the morning sky

—From the death trauma weary good-by then—orgasm addicts stacked in the attic like muttering burlap—

Odor rockets over oily lagoons—silver flakes fall through a maze of dirty pictures—windy city outskirts—Smell of empty condoms, excrement, black dust —ragged pants to the ankle—

Bone faces—place of nettles along adobe walls open shirts flapping—savanna and grass mud—The sun went —The mountain shadow touched ragged pants—whisper of dark street in faded Panama photo—'Muy got good one, Meester' smiles through the pissoir—Orgasm siphoned back street smells and a Mexican boy—Woke in the filtered green light, thistle shadows cutting stale underwear—

The three boys lay on the bank rubbing their stomachs against the warm sand—They stood up undressing to swim—Billy gasped as his pants dropped and his cock flipped out he hadn't realized it was that far up from the rubbing—They swam lazily letting the warm water move between their legs and Lloyd walked back to his pants and brought a piece of soap and they passed it back and forth laughing and rubbing each other and Billy ejaculated his thin brown stomach arched out of the water as the spurts shot up in the sunlight like tiny rockets—He sagged down into the water panting and lay there against the muddy bottom—

Under the old trestle trailing vines in the warm summer afternoon undressing to swim and rubbing their bellies—Lloyd rubbing his hand down further and further openly rubbing his crotch now and grinning as the other two watched and Billy looked at Jammy hesitantly and began to rub too and slowly Jammy did the same—They came into the water watching the white blobs drift away—The Mexican boy dropped his pants and his cock flipped out and he looked at Billy grinning —Billy turned and waded into the water and the Mexican followed him and turned him around feeling his crotch and shoved him down on his back in the shallow water, hitched his brown arms under Billy's knees and shoved them back against his chest—The Mexican held his knees with one arm and with the other hand dipped a piece of soap in the water and began rubbing it up and down Billy's ass—

Billy shuddered and his body went limp letting it happen—The Mexican was rubbing soap on his own cock now with one hand—shiny black pubic hairs reflected sharp as wire—Slowly shoved his cock in—Billy gasped and moved with it—Spurts fell against his chest in the sunlight and he lay there in the water breathing sewage smells of the canal—

Billy squirmed up onto a muddy bank and took a handful of the warm mud and packed it around his cock and Lloyd poured a bucket of water on the mud and Billy's cock flipped out jumping in the green filtered light under the