4 You idiot! What makes you think decay will never stink from your skin? Your warts sicken typists, girls in the tube avoid you. Must they also stop their ears to your tomcat wailing, a promise your body cannot keep? A lame stag, limping after the hinds, with tines shivered by impact and scarred neck — but look! Spittle fills his mouth, overflows, snuffing their sweet scent. His feet lift lightly with mere memory of gentler seasons. Lungs full of the drug, antlers take back, he halts the herd, his voice filled with custom of combat and unslaked lust. Did the girl shrink from David? Did she hug his ribs, death shaking them, and milk dry the slack teat from which Judah had sucked life?=Chris Daniels