The Soft Machine

newspapers.' Panama clung to our bodies naked under the ceiling fan—

excrement at the far end of forgotten streets— hospital smell on the dawn wind—

(Peeled his phosphorescent metal knees, brain broiled in carrion hunger.) On the sea wall under fading Panama photo casual ghost of adolescent T-shirt traced fossil-like jellyfish—

'On the sea wall if you got my last hints over the tide flats—I don't know exactly where—woke up in other flesh—shirt with Chinese characters—breeze from the Cafe de France—lantern burning insect wings— I'm almost without medicine—far away—storms— crackling sounds—Nothing here now but the circling albatross—dead post card waiting a place forgotten—' On the sea wall met a boy under the circling albatross—Peeled his red-and-white T-shirt to brown flesh and grey under like ash and passed a joint back and forth as we dropped each other's pants and he looked down face like Mayan limestone in the kerosene lamp sputter of burning insect wings over the tide flats—

Woke up in other flesh the lookout different— hospital smell of backward countries—

Where the Awning Flaps

'So we got our rocks off permutating through each other's facilities on the blue route and after a little practice we could do it without the projector and perform any kinda awful sex act on any street corner behind the blue glass stirring the passing rectums and pubic hairs like dry leaves falling in the pissoir: ' J'aime ces types vicieux qu'ici montrent la bite—'

Drinking from his eyes the idiot green boys plaintive as wind leaves erect wooden phallus on the graves of dying Lemur Peoples.

'Fluck flick take any place. Johnny you-me-neon-asshole-amigos-now.'

'You only get a hard-on with my permission.'

'Who you now Meester? Flick fluck take Johnny over. Me screw Johnny up same asshole? You me make flick- fluck-one-piece?'

Just hula hoop through each other to idiot Mambo. Every citizen of the area has a blueprint like some are Electricals and some are Vegetable Walking Carbonics and so on, it's very technical, boy jissom tracks through rectal mucus and Johnny.

'One track out so: panels of shadow.'

'Me finish Johnny night.'

So we get our rectums in transparent facilities blue route process together, slow night to examine me. every dawn smell fingers the passing rectum, finger on all cocks: 'I-you-me in the pissoir of present time.' 'Idiot fuck you-me-Johnny. 'flick fluck idiot asshole buddies like a tree frog clinging in permission. Who are you green hands? Fungoid purple?'

'Johnny over. Me screw. Flick fluck one piece.'

Warm spermy smell to idiot Mambo. Silence belches smell of ozone and rectal flight: 'Here goes examiner other rectums naked in Panama, citizen of the area.'

On the sea wall met the guide under the Circling Albatross. Peeled his red- and white-striped T-shirt to brown flesh and grey under like ash and we passed a joint back and forth as we dropped each other's pants and he looked down face like Mayan limestone in the kerosene lamp sputter of burning insect wings.

'I screw Johnny up ass.' He jumped with his knees on the bed and slapped his thighs, cock-shadow pulsing on the blue paint wall. ' Asi como peeeeerrross.' ass hairs spread over the tide flats. Woke up in other flesh, the lookout different, one boy naked in Panama dawn wind.

Casual adolescent of urinals and evening flesh gone when I woke up—Age flakes fall through the pissoir— Ran into my old friend Jones—so badly off—Forgotten coughing in 1920 movie—

Vaudeville voices hustle on bed service—I nearly suffocated trying on the boy's breath—That's Panama—Brain- eating birds patrol the low frequency brain waves—nitrous flesh swept out by your voice and end of receiving set— Sad hand tuned out the stale urine of Panama.

'I am dying, Meester?—forgotten coughing in 1920 street?'

Genital pawn ticket peeled his stale underwear, shirt flapping whiffs of young hard-on—brief boy on screen laughing my skivvies all the way down—whispers of dark street in Puerto Assis—

Meester smiles through the village wastrel—Orgasm siphoned back telegram: 'Johnny pants down.' (that stale summer dawn smell in the garage—vines twisting through steel—bare feet in dog's excrement—)

Panama clung to our bodies from Las Palmas to David on camphor sweet smell of cooking paregoric— Burned down the republic—The druggist no glot clom Fliday—Panama mirrors of 1910 under seal in any drugstore—He threw in the towel morning light on cold coffee stale breakfast table—litde cat smile—pain and death smell of his sickness in the room with me— three souvenir shots of Panama City—Old friend came and stayed all day face eaten by 'I need more'—I have noticed this in the New World—

'You come with me, Meester?'

And Joselito moved in at Las Playas during the essentials—Stuck in this place—iridescent lagoons, swamp delta, bubbles of coal gas still be saying 'A ver, Luckees' a hundred years from now—A rotting teak-wood balcony propped up Ecuador.

'Die Flowers and Jungle bouncing they can't city?'

On the sea wall two of them stood together waving —Age flakes coming down hard here—Hurry up— Another hollow ticket—Don't know if you got my last hints trying to break out of this numb dizziness with Chinese characters—I was saying over and over shifted commissions where the awning flaps in your voice— end of the line—Silence out there beyond the gate— casual adolescent shirt flapping in the evening wind—

'Old photographer trick wait for Johnny—Here goes Mexican cemetery.'

On the sea wall met a boy with red- and white-striped T-shirt—(P.G. town in the purple twilight) —

The boy peeled off his stale underwear scraping erection—warm rain on the iron roof—under the ceiling fan stood naked on bed service—bodies touched electric film—contact sparks tingled—fan whiffs of young hard-on