1	he walks in without knocking his teeth gleam a gloved hand is offered i shake he removes his hat he's not the King of Prussia certain procedures must be observed etc., etc. like this watermelon he chops in half with his left hand inside it is not teeming with ants with a quick motion he scoops out the flesh swallows it watermelon juice spills on his shoulders he shows me his scalpel tells me how once he cut through a brick wall he'd meant to escape to the west ended up in a car dealership in Azerbaidzhan the little Volkswagen had these nice black seats and nifty ashtrays where he put his gum speeding off down the bumpy road followed by no one
2	it is a simple procedure he said as when the hands are separated from a monkey or prayer is separated from the lips of a duck do not inhale stand very still perhaps you should pay me in advance when i am finished you should anticipate a certain discomfort it will not last i require a white tablecloth a small washbasin i shall not need to sterilize the blade
3	a gust on my back the wings of flies their eyes red and wet like watermelon an ant crawls my cello-shaped belly i press my hands together in Malory: 'methought my heart would brast' what small muscles hold it together 'the night sky' the leather of cars
4	i am not the King of Prussia i am not an angel i have never been to the Indian subcontinent the notion of sexual relations in zero gravity appeals to me but not obsessively i would not die for my beliefs except eventually he offers me his hand do not tell your mother that i have been here that i have this blade