“...And it was like Placing a
Bet on the Narrative:
Turn-Off the Lights, in
your Room, at the first Hint, of a Description turn, your Head at Sunset turn,
into a Commotion, beneath What shoulders,
was an initial Entrance for *this City marked: ‘ADORE’ or perhaps it was:
‘FRAILTY’; regardless: it is Saturday
Night, and I’m all alone, as the Pleasure sees fit, and this Path of the
Narrative, begins to take on a life, that no longer Presents itself, with much
Sense, let alone, Direction. However:
Listen my little Rabbit like this:
there is still, so much, that I have yet to Mention, including, the Figure,
that just appeared, at the Foot, of our Staircase.”
-Boris
Izsus 1982
