and
all day such magnificent sunshine
- Boris Izsus in a Letter to A.F.C II
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Thing
Now: is to Dream, of what, will Crush the
Present. I am Still Speaking of the
Pigeon’s coo, for it, as I, Must have Existed. IF I
Fail to Create a Specific Content, in
this Context, then I Must have been
Aware, of an Insurmountable
Boundary. in other
words:
What is Desirable, makes this
Distance Distant. And All
Day: such Magnificent Sunshine.
History is to the Inadequacy to what I Felt (is) to. Let Me Show
You: the Proper Way to Plunge
into a Slapstick Rage. The Suppleness
of your Thigh below your Skirt’s Hem. The Letter Began: My Dear Georgette: the
Way I See it, this just Reports the Beginning thrumble
of my Vice. I am
Always Astonished by what of this
Meat Cannot be Soldered and soup.
A Gun-Downed Body Transfigured
into a Quasi-Toponomy of ‘Being
Engaged’ in a Silly Horse-Play. And Years later, Legislatively, The Body doos
this. One thing, I Know, I Will Not soon Forget, is reading Henry Miller
Describe Attaining Pleasure, and how
this Pleasure, upon his Seizing-Upon,
was, and Always had been, Insufficient. The Rhythmic Movement of this, is What you are Now thinking. There are no Words to
Describe: “This just isn’t Enough.” As
IF, I could Even Show you, what it
is, I am Wearing. And She
is Sitting Across from Me, Giving that Meat-Counter
Glare. Sometimes the Face just Begs to Hit the Wall that’ll Hit Right-Back. And I Kept thinking
throughout this Day: Motherfucker,
now that, be some Magnificent, fucking,
Sunshine.