Where Flesh Circulates by William S. Burroughs
Its so hard to remember in the world — — Weren’t you there? Dead so you
think of ports — — Couldn’t reach flesh — — Might have to reach flesh from
anybody — -
And i will depart under the Red Masters
for strange dawn words of color exalting their
falling on my face impending attack satellite in a
Gold and perfumes of light city red stone
shadows brick terminal time wet dream flesh creakily the
the last feeble faces fountains play stale
spit from crumpled cloth Weimar youths on my face
bodies where flesh circulates Masters of color
exalting their dogs impending attack of light
unaware of the vagrant shadows on the Glass and Metal Streets
silver flying scanning patterns electric dogs
dark street life “Here he is now” staring out
from the dawn he strode toward the flesh jissom webs drifting
where identity scarred metal faces masturbating
“Who him?” spitting blood laugh on the iron afternoons
ejaculates wet dream flesh in red brick Terminal Time
red nitrous fumes under the orange gas flares
grey metal fall out on terminal cities
to the shrinking sky fading color sewage delta
caught in this dead whistle stop post card sky
dead rainbow flesh and copper pagodas flickered on the
in a city of red stone black skin work fish smell and
dead eyes in doorways red water words spitting blood laugh
sharp as water reeds fish syllables
stirring this Moroccan sunlight vagrant noon station
spent in the mirror dawn jissom webs drifting rainbow
speeded up from afternoon’s slow ferris wheel flesh.
