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Published in: Beat Coast East,
An Anthology of Rebellion, Excelsior Press, New York 1960

The reason I like tall girls was the cool distance between their faces. In heat their toes are cool, or their larynx is glacial and they are superb in green polaroid, off the shoulder greens, silk vest green, vegetable absinthe green, daylight and tangerine greens, avocado greens, emeralds and trident greens, evanescent and broadcloth greens, white sardine greens, hillocks and buttocks green but all beneath, underwear silky soft.

It proved over the phenomenological abyss of my mind that god made the world in the image of tall girl in virginal green and smothered in her pheasant-puffed breasts he's been trying to get fingers and all up her cool crotch but he's real shook up, and has forgotten her name and birth date. And so her perched on doormat of some best friend wizard, type of necromancer, and knowledgeable in astrology, and asked for voodoo girl in image of said virginal girl in green dress; to work out love potions, etc.

And high priest wizard makes images of superb sunsets and bitter amethysts and dewdrop eyelids and windowpane sponges of subterranean temple and other cluttering facades and crowns, but he fail one after the other and so there are tall girls in green dresses all over the scene and lavender nods from absent eternity and I say there is nothing that god likes better than green girls in tall dresses, I mean look around.

Outside the windows were raining a veiled beer, and everything was blue green, and the girl turned her green eyes towards me and her green breast and a gorgeous knee of green and flashing green hips and the tip toe green mouth and I touch that icy larynx and deeper clown I feel that glacial toe and I try to get my fingers and all that into her crotch and all she froths and splutters is god, god. It went to my head all that I must admit. Somewhere that saliva tasted like ambrosia.