the Red Bank this morning.  Was he oysters old fish at table perhaps he young flesh in bed no June has no ar no oysters.  But there are people like things high.  Tainted game.  Jugged hare.  First catch your hare.  Chinese eating eggs fifty years old, blue and green again.  Dinner of thirty courses.  Each dish harmless might mix inside.  Idea for a poison mystery.  That archduke Leopold was it no yes or was it Otto one of those Habsburgs?  Or who was it used to eat the scruff off his own head?  Cheapest lunch in town.  Of course aristocrats, then the others copy to be in the fashion.  Milly too rock oil and flour.  Raw pastry I like myself.  Half the catch of oysters they throw back in the sea to keep up the price.  Cheap no-one would buy.  Caviare.  Do the grand.  Hock in green glasses.  Swell blowout.  Lady this.  Powdered bosom pearls.  The elite.  CREME de la CREME.  They want special dishes to pretend they’re.  Hermit with a platter of pulse keep down the stings of the flesh.  Know me come eat with me.  Royal sturgeon high sheriff, Coffey, the butcher, right to venisons of the forest from his ex.  Send him back the half of a cow.  Spread I saw down in the Master of the Rolls’ kitchen area.  Whitehatted chef like a rabbi.  Combustible duck.  Curly cabbage A la DUCHESSE de Parme.  Just as well to write it on the bill of fare so you can know what you’ve eaten.  Too many drugs spoil the broth.  I know it myself.  Dosing it with Edwards’ desiccated soup.  Geese stuffed silly for them.  Lobsters boiled alive.  Do ptake some ptarmigan.  Wouldn’t mind being a waiter in a swell hotel.  Tips, evening dress, halfnaked ladies.  May I tempt you to a little more filleted lemon sole, miss Dubedat?  Yes, do bedad.  And she did bedad.  Huguenot name I expect that.  A miss Dubedat lived in Killiney, I remember.  Du, de la French.  Still it’s the same fish perhaps old Micky Hanlon of Moore street ripped the guts out of making money hand over fist finger in fishes’ gills can’t write his name on a cheque think he was painting the landscape with his mouth twisted.  Moooikill A Aitcha Ha ignorant as a kish of brogues, worth fifty thousand pounds.

Stuck on the pane two flies buzzed, stuck.

Glowing wine on his palate lingered swallowed.  Crushing in the winepress grapes of Burgundy.  Sun’s heat it is.  Seems to a secret touch telling me memory.  Touched his sense moistened remembered.  Hidden under wild ferns on Howth below us bay sleeping:  sky.  No sound.  The sky.  The bay purple by the Lion’s head.  Green by Drumleck.  Yellowgreen towards Sutton.  Fields of undersea, the lines faint brown in grass, buried cities.  Pillowed on my coat she had her hair, earwigs in the heather scrub my hand under her nape, you’ll toss me all.  O wonder!  Coolsoft with ointments her hand touched me, caressed:  her eyes upon me did not turn away.  Ravished over her I lay, full lips full open, kissed her mouth.