“Although it is still August, I find myself Burning all of our
Clothes likes it is December: that Glorious
Month where we find, it is worth converting our Breathing into an Embrace:
a more simple Form, of how we’re Meeting: the Body, the Face, the Meat of a
single sore, on the
Southside where Breathing is more akin to taking-in
a Disaster; as is, we watch from our Bed, each Morning, all the little Piggies
run from one to one, where some Fall just
so, so to *this Sea”
-Boris
Izsus 1986
