Boris, by Mike Ferguson

I am not a silent poet

Snow leopard without flakes to humanise. How a creature became monstrous in the act of its fakery. A rose by that name could never smell as sweet. Or Bogoris – the small one; wolf of shortness. How who and what we are at our core puts a slant on what is said: the monster was the best friend I ever had. The de piffle of it all. Play with names not namus. No Bush Pig ever soured with such a stench at this. The diminutive is in the stature of grace and caring, in the true knowing what is right and wrong, in the rhetoric of wolf and sheep and history’s making

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