“I
typed a Brief recollection of a Dream, *this Evening, Before:
He is Waiting for Her, at Night, at the Station, in a City:
covered, in a backdrop, which isn’t
of Rain. Thus: To Wait, in *this Sense, becomes the Butthole of *this
Creation; In Other Words: despite the Distance that Gulfs, we can Assume in the Insinuation of her Absence where Death
means Death and the end of Closure is an Enclosure meaning in Silence, we can
Deduce, that He, Who is I, is *this: is Begging”
-Boris
Izsus f1992
