The Black Book

“I think,” he says at last, “I will go into a monastery. Will you come with me? Eh? We forget all these bitches, dear boy, and be holy holy holy. In black.”

Take out the glass eye, unscrew the legs, the arms. Remove the wig, the teeth, the silver plate in the skull, the tubes in the anus and abdomen, and just climb into bed and wait for summer

You poor white symptom of my world, did you know that the trite mask of sorrow I wore hid the great merciless fear and rage

His arms are tossed wide, his head comes down. Then the magazine of laughter is emptied snick snick snick.