And-Wouldn't-You-Know: I Was Just Beginning to Feel Aroused

abarberisthemostsavoryangeltothepsyche

The Prefix of this City rots on the (pre-) anal that I Wed: Before you Read this, Before your Absence only Becomes a Backdrop, I Want you to Kiss Me. I am Writing some sort of coo, as this is Stumbling towards the Finality of a Stroke: a Sound that is Retinaled from the Ear into Solitude.  A Barber, as Izsus said, is the most Savory Angel to the Psyche.  I Have Hung my Wet Clothes up, and Succumbed to the Domestic link to Glory. This is the pits, is the Least of the Disappointments that I Heard. “But you See-Them Tits on Page 49, Ah, Flip to the Other Side…” A Disaster Within or Withsome Accrues in a City as the Romancing Shock of the Conclusive end to the Body, where this Rapture surely Congregates with the Speed of One Man Skedaddling out the fucking Door, out the fucking White Pages.  With a Mouthful of Cereal, I Reiterate that I am in the Midst of some Serious Writing. I Have Heard and Returned to this Horror a Thousand Erect Times. You can Ob— || as I Literates a Time for a Lisp that Careens over the Commandeering Clap of a Command.  And Peeling-Back this little Day-Dream for a Seasoned Heart and the other Lilt Complaints that Populate this mouf.  in other words: At Least, I Factored-Off into a State of Chicago Broken-Off from the Rest of this Rubed World.  The Fact that I have Enemies, does Not Mean that I have Allies.  It is Rather Funny, how in Youth, we Confide in the City, to Begin to Wonder Why.  She tells me: this Present has a Sub-Present that Presides Over Desire.  And-Wouldn’t-You-Know: I was Just Beginning to Feel Aroused.  And I Keep Telling Myself, that I am Alive, only through this Consistent Motion, this Consistent Wild-Eyed-Desire to Hit the Allusive Rock.  I Guarantee this Sentence shall Arrive just as, as is.  I Accumulate your Absences into this Room, so that in Time, they Shall-Grow so Large, that it Builds a Bridge that Runs Right-Through you, but Never-Into you.  And so it Goes, And as it Goes it Sows. And I tell Her every Night: I have just one more Errand to Run, and then I Swear, that I Will Lie next to you, for the Remainder of this Night. Calm and Perhaps.

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—

Where Some Fall just so to Sea

“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

Home's Half-Jabbery Woes

I can Understand the Reverse of Knowledge

The Bout

As if, Nowhere, as if, enduring Nowhere

The Brutal Necessity