Sunday, October 16, 2011


As the moth once told his sect: "I've got nothing in me but" body; fire for the it I'm not satisfied by. An air resides, therein -- pursued by light like a mirror. To the moth, the space between himself & the flame is a sea of distances, carrying him back to nowhere --


Our Lords trade like for like,
over oceans; in New

England, for example,
where the scent of fire

gives body to the autumn air, one'll
also finds places to disappear

insha' Allah. Praise be to Him who started all
creation, & then repeated it; like someone

on a podium once said: he "who
holds you over a pit," as if upon

a thread, "keeps you from"
terror; fire; ire; err.  O, O.