Ulysses
currants. Screened under ferns she laughed warmfolded.
Wildly I lay on her, kissed her: eyes, her lips, her stretched
neck beating, woman’s breasts full in her blouse of nun’s
veiling, fat nipples upright. Hot I tongued her. She kissed
me. I was kissed. All yielding she tossed my hair. Kissed,
she kissed me.
Me. And me now.
Stuck, the flies buzzed.
His downcast eyes followed the silent veining of the
oaken slab. Beauty: it curves: curves are beauty. Shape-
ly goddesses, Venus, Juno: curves the world admires. Can
see them library museum standing in the round hall, na-
ked goddesses. Aids to digestion. They don’t care what man
looks. All to see. Never speaking. I mean to say to fellows
like Flynn. Suppose she did Pygmalion and Galatea what
would she say first? Mortal! Put you in your proper place.
Quaffing nectar at mess with gods golden dishes, all ambro-
sial. Not like a tanner lunch we have, boiled mutton, carrots
and turnips, bottle of Allsop. Nectar imagine it drinking
electricity: gods’ food. Lovely forms of women sculped Ju-
nonian. Immortal lovely. And we stuffing food in one hole
and out behind: food, chyle, blood, dung, earth, food: have
to feed it like stoking an engine. They have no. Never looked.
I’ll look today. Keeper won’t see. Bend down let something
drop see if she.
Dribbling a quiet message from his bladder came to go
to do not to do there to do. A man and ready he drained
his glass to the lees and walked, to men too they gave
themselves, manly conscious, lay with men lovers, a youth