Neither twine nor rope nor Holy GhostnCould bind this man to the mortal coilnYet with mirth and dust and processed meatsnA feast lay there before himnnThis is evangelical, he saidnHe gandered to the right and to the leftnTactile affirmations and obsessive observationsnAnd need i even mention such impressive desecrationsnnI am the city of dustnI am the cold dark placenI am the half dead flesh that needs no sleepnThe pregnant pausenThe sound unsungnThe gut cut upnThe gut cut up in real timenSo, you will be mine