MARKEL
Send me something, you big oaf.
Bring me that elixir you work on in
that seedy lab you keep : monkeys
on pins and dead butterflies in glass
showcases. Whatever for, I've always
asked you, whatever for do you do these
things? Your brittle nose is a hob-nailed boot.
You drink at a blind oasis and - always drunk -
you sniff warts and cartwheels together alike,
drawing in fine girls from the street below.
Why? Why? I've always asked you, and
you've always responded back : Why?
I do it for money, and that wonderful
smell of a female presence, that
best and very smell of all.
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