in the deep locomotions of the machinery the heart boom booms to the open chasm dark and red and warm.  Inside all but outside its slimy self outhousing caribinas outside the roof, falling off the drainpipe from piccalilli to south carolina, oggling the duvets but they're too warm.  Green blankets praying mantis fades into and spikes you with her spiky hands of coffee and croissants and garlic, onions if you like, with the mice.  Black keys on the piano with ink spots and Wallace and me.