O mud, mud, how fluid! —- br Thick as foreign coffee, and with a sluggy pulse. br Speak, speak! Who is it? br It is the bowel-pulse, lover of digestibles. br It is he who has achieved these syllables. br br What are these words, these words? br They are plopping like mud. br O god, how shall I ever clean the phone table? br They are pressing out of the many-holed earpiece, they are looking for a br listener. br Is he here? br br Now the room is ahiss. The instrument br Withdraws its tentacle. br But the spawn percolate in my heart. They are fertile. br Muck funnel, muck funnel — br You are too big.