Talara felt his hard-on against my khaki pants as we shifted slots and I browned a strange Danish dog under the nudes of Sweden. Warm spermy smell, room of blue glass strung together on light-lines of jissom and shit, shared meals and belches, the shifting of testes and contractions of rectum, flick-Suck back and forth.
'Here goes Johnny. We fluck now first run': in blue silence saw the two one track out: blue. Each meet image coming round the other erection-fucked-self and came other shit both.
'We flick-Suck I-you-film-tracks through rectal mucus and carbolic soap. Cut out pale panels of shadow.' blue silent bat wings over rectums blending in transparent erection, a hot shit and all process together.
'Johnny's body can't deceive us in other body, slow night to examine me.' sick dawn smell of carbolic finger, close-up finger on all cocks.
'I-you-me fuck up neon blind fingers phantom cleavage of boy impressions Witch Board of Present Time.'
The idiot green boys leaped on Johnny like tree frogs clinging to his chest with sucker paws fungoid gills and red mushroom penis pulsing to the sex waves from Johnny eyes, warm spermy smell, lamps and flicker movies strung together on a million fingers shared meals and belches and lens-eye drank jissom. contract of rectum flight: 'Here goes Johnny. One flight out.' Screen other rectum naked in Panama night.
Ghost of Panama clung to our throats, coughing and spitting on separate spasm, phosphorescent breath fades in fractured air—sick flesh strung together on a million fingers shared meals and belches—nothing here now but circling word dust—dead post card falling through space between worlds—this road in this sharp smell of carrion—
We twisted slowly to black lagoons, flower floats and gondolas—tentative crystal city iridescent in the dawn wind—(Adolescents ejaculate over the tide flats.)
In the blue windy morning masturbating a soiled idiot body of cold scar tissue—catatonic limestone hands folded over his yen—a friend of any boy structure cut by a species of mollusk—Street boys of the green gathered— slow bronze smiles from a land of grass without memory—cool casual little ghosts of adolescent spasm—metal excrement and crystal glooms of the fish city—under a purple twilight our clothes shredded mummy mien on obsidian floors—Panama clung to our bodies—
'You come with me, Meester?'
Northern lights flicker from his 'Yes'—The rope is adjusted—Writhing in wind black hair bursts through his flesh—Great canines tear into his gums with exquisite toothache pleasure—The green cab boys go all the way on any line.
Green boys—idiot irresponsibles—rolling in warm delta ooze fuck in color flashes through green jelly flesh that quivers together merging and drawing back in a temple dance of colors. 'Hot licks us all the way we are all one clear green substance like flexible amber changing color and consistency to accommodate any occasion.'
'This bad place Meester. You crazy or something walk around alone. Where you go?' The guide: impersonal screen swept by color winds light up green red white blue, antennae ears of flexible metal cartilage crackle blue spark messages leaving smell of ozone in the shiny black pubic hairs that grow on the guide's pink skull, blood and nerves hard meat cleaver his whole body would scorn to carry a weapon. And Being inside was him and more, face cut by image-flak impersonal young pilot eyes riding light rays pulsing through his head.
'Fluck Johnny? Up ass?' He guided Carl with electric tingles in spine and sex hairs through clicking gates and turnstiles, escalators and cable cars in synchronized motion. Impersonal young pilot eyes riding the blue silence permutated Carl into an iron cubicle with painted blue walls pallet on the floor brass tea tray kif pipes and jars of phosphorescent green sex paste, wall over the pallet two-way mirrors opposite wall of glass opening on the next cubicle and so on, sex acts into the blue distance. The Guide pointed to the mirror: 'We fuck good Johnny. On air now.'
'Johnny pants down'—he was smearing the sex paste on 'Johnny's' ass hot licking the white nerves and pearly genitals—Carl's lips and tongue swelled with blood and his face went phosphorescent penis purple— slow penetrating incandescent flesh tubes siphoned his body into a pulsing sphere of blue jelly floated over skeletons locked in limestone—The cubicles shifted— Carl was siphoned back through the Guide and landed with a fluid plop as the cubicles permutated fucking shadows through ceilings of legs and sex hairs, black spirals of phantom assholes lifting and twisting like a Panhandle cyclone.
UNIT I: WHITE: 'You wanta screw me?' 'I wanta screw you.' Two marble white youths with identical erections stand on a white tile bathroom floor. The young faces sharp flash bulb of urgency fade-out stale empty of hunger. (Crystal flute music. The boys step from Attic frieze on Greek urns.)
Tarnished pub mirrors of the gentle ghost-people, grey faded clubs under yellowing tusks of the beast killed by improbable hyphenated names. In bath cubicles and locker rooms shut for the summer white light bent over a chair—
UNIT II: BLACK: 'Bend over.' As the white youth bends over turns brown then black. The other half drums on his back. The youths fade in obsidian mirror, smell of opium and copal.
UNIT III: GREEN: 'Loosen you up a bit.' Black finger dips into green jelly. The finger turns green in rusty limestone with a slow circular pull, green boy of flexible green amber, bright lizards and beetles incrusted here and there, twists sighs out in jungle sound of frogs and bird calls and howler monkeys like wind in the trees, slow movement of rivers and forests cross the Drenched Lands.
Vines twist through the boys smell of mud flats where sting rays bask in shallow canals brown with excrement sewage delta and coal gas swamps under orange gas flares and grey metal fallout.
UNIT IV: RED: 'Breathe in Johnny. Here goes.' Red youths fuck bent over a brass bed in Mexico, feel through a maze of penny arcades and dirty pictures to the blue Mexican night, penis of different size, shape swell in and out flicker faces and bodies burning flesh sparks from camp fires and red fuck lights in blue cubicles.
UNIT V: BLUE: SILENCE. The two bodies merge in a blue sphere. Vapor trails cross a blue sky.
Out on a blue wave high fi cool and blue as liquid air in our slate-blue houses wrapped in orange flesh-robes that grow on us.
UNIT I: WHITE: The boys slow down to phallic statues. They fade out in old photos and 1920
movies, hairs rub the exquisite toothache pleasure: 'I wanta screw you.' Flash bulb of urgency fade:
'Loosen you up a bit.' The finger turns green out in stale streets of cry.
UNIT III: GREEN: The green boy of green flute music, worn amber with lizards incrusted and finger rusty sighs
