Attempting to Tackle your Allusive Ambitions

“And I overheard this: the only Fitting Description which Accompanies us in Life, is the Constant Fit of Hunger…”

-Boris Izsus  2012

Splendidly, Feeble

With My Long Arms Sore in the Air

“It all Boils-Down to the Experience of Strangulation when Confronted with Relation’s Retaliation…”

-Boris Izsu 2011

An Oral History of the Defiant Oboe

The primary Method:

wherever

your Body

has lain—

A Fold, an Image: Distorted

and Torn

the meaning to Carve—

Your anytime Sensual

Form (trans)

fixed to an Outline,

minutes

the Contrapuntal Morning

Removing  

Itself, from Genre’s

Edge—

To Forego in a Dream

Disaster’s

Passage

transfers,

to the Self-Involved

Call: “To thee,

is only thy

to thee,

which is

thy” Multiplying

over a “Cross

your Heart”

or Hope

to land

in this

Plea—

The Cathartic Beep of Pigeons

                                                                                   

                                                                                     The “Catarrh-y-Atic

                                                   beep”—of Pigeons

                                                                                     in the Post-Coital

                                                                                     Humidity, Recital:

                                                                                    yesterday’s Tornado

                                                                                    couldn’t Measure

                                                                                    to Chicago’s impending

                                                  cancel, or: any Decadent

                                                                                   Song, shot through

                                                                                   the Body: Face

                                                                                   crushed, under Spokes:

                                                                                   Above the Oaks,

                                                                                   in Hyde Park

                                                                                   late-May—

Oh Armsy, Defiantly Bemused

“Oh Armsy, I Meant

to Say”--------àif you

Encounter

a Sensation

which Irritates

the Bowels of the Mind’s

Antiquity—

and this Humility

really

Served no

fucking

Purpose—80

Degrees, atop my Matutinal

Throne of Nerves

and the Usual Cheap

Suit—(s) this Man

Who has Swam in—

this is

my only Sin:

watching Hers

Slip

in the Past: Portered

My Portly Nature

so Helplessly

I Put:

thy Ass

is Bound—

thy is   thy

Chafed—

and thy is

Bemused

by thy own

Defiance