quietboy

it is not written

no pen man ship was ever cargoed with her charecter

note: books are carefully folded forests void of autum bound from the sun

Likewise, she made her residence on the outskirts of a shadowing history on the darkside of the moon where the searchlight of the sun could not spot her nor rot her; the seed of every tree has a hidden root

Yet, she has come to light

The swelling patchwork of vibrant dreams

Yes, there is a science to the aroma of sleeping women

(and to think of the girlfriend i was tempted to break up with because she slept too much)

I know now, they nurtured her there. they slept in packs, dreamt in cycles, nursed her in shifts and Became her on rotation.

Unnamed her everytime she was named, so she would not be known (even unto herself)

Undressed her everytime she was dressed, so she would not be recognized as anyone other than herself

They blindfolded her and spun her in circles so she would find her way here by no means other than her intuition

And she is come

i am a simple disoriented man in her presence. i wear a loincloth over my eyes and ejaculate too soon

Forgive me father for i have sinned
i prayed to you and cupped the wind
and in doing so
barred her entry
into a century:

100 years of solitude

(yes the wind is the moon's imagination wandering)

i will now pray with my hands
outstretched
with these psalms
etched into my palms

Saul williams, 2003

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