The time --
I heard my complexion for the first time. Brilliantly simple it seemed: Alif Lam Meem.
An accusation --
...a one-winged-bug flew around me while I loved thinking that I fly...Myself coffined in my own rug knowing that I didn't: Fie.
The Judgment --
(Was ever idleness like this? Within a hut of stone To bask the centuries away)-Emily Dickenson
A justification --
I hold my complexion neatly folded in my hands for those who dare: While Ishmael clung on my neck, 12
I walked reading the Spider along the road until it had worked its web all the way
to my exiled tongue and farther morewhere a question mark grew so deep and largethrowing its blue shadow over whoever's chain-smoking these thoughts at home.
Knocking at my absence, Abraham waited at my door.
"Does he insist to ever-enter?" I thought.
Looking through one eye, I asked in Hebrew for the
code: "What's aboard a bug?"
In Arabic Abraham answered: "Don't you people see?"
I ran to dust off my ornamented rug...The window was all I could see...Nothing else counted...Not even the glass-challenged bug... Through that window, I commanded: Fly oh my... my dirty... decayed... rug...
After the Time --
Riding the same spider that ate the bug's left wing: Nooun.
Isaac, where'll we be soon? 38
12. Ishmael] Isaac
38. Isaac] Ishmael
Friday, February 09, 2007
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