Oh I feel so  alive, all alive, every pore is fucking tingling. My God god, god! My eyes are so wide, female forms and oh, and oh, and oh, my eyes are so open. The rain, drip drip, the rain, the rain sings drip drip / pitter patter / drip drip and? The pen in my mouth, mouth, in my, broken, ink - like the blood from your fist, that time - pours from my mouth. I feel out, out and can't hold my head and and and. In the summer with the pigeons, ST Paul's in the autumn with the pigeons, Venice in spring, on the square, and I am the corn boy, the pigeon boy. That morning we'd eaten on a gondola, with a striped man, and we'd taken - two weeks before, in Florence, lamplit Florence, with my David, my love David - taken a horse and cart and when the price came up fathercomplained and the man, with his belly and his cigarette, asked how he was to 'give sugar to my horse, monsignor' and father assented and paid the man his many many coins, oh how many coins, oh how many stars and each falling. 'Each of us an oyster pearl, and each of us an oyster's world.' Or not like that, from before, before. Remember by the stream, in the forest, and you, 14, and I? And we, and oh? And where, where are we? In Italy? And on the river, and in the hills we felt free and I read to you late into the night, after. Finally, my eyes are closing and the ink is goinginginging ing but the head, its pain, is mine.