…Here is the hub of ambiguity. Electric spectra splash across the street. Equivocation knots the shadowed features of boys who are not boys; a quirk of darkness shrivels a full mouth to senility or pares it to a razor-edge, pours acid across an amber cheek, fingers a crotch, or smashes in the pelvic arch and wells a dark clot oozing on a chest dispelled with motion or a flare of light that swells the lips and dribbles them with blood. They say the hustlers paint their lips with blood. They say the same crowd surges up the street and surges down again, like driftwood borne tidewise ashore and
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