When the call to prayer sounds and the sun’s about to rise, my thoughts restlessly dissect this sorrow, that guilt, old lies. “I can’t keep up”, I say, “slow down and stop the mumbling!” But they answer with obtuse eloquence, lingering, rolling, and tumbling. How lucky I find those people, who are right now asleep. Continue reading “An Insomniac’s Morning Hours”
A collection of my writings. A spool of thoughts undone.
Beisan's Burble 