One out of two times there is a giant snot, a beautiful mucus, an extraordinary phlegm hanging out from your nose. No wonder I’m so in love with you – no wonder I’m in love with your nostrils – they are round and dark and perfect – they will never shut up or betray or abandon me – they will never inform an enemy of my existence, spill, blab or kiss and tell. Your that kind of layer, your somehow sinuses, your that kind of area. Your bogies, your boggers, your piggies, your curl up figgies. You can’t see it baby. You can’t see it dangling and crumbling. Your snot is a luxury you cannot afford. A little hair on a belated wife on a black mole on a white skin, on a green grass, on a clean ass, on a beach house on a crumbling, dangling cliff.

I'm With You Residency, Scarborough, 2011