I met a man once who said he dreamt in technicolor, but that he could not relay these dreams because words are clumsy -- they becloud, more than they enlighten.

He was homeless, that is to say he was free. Common monikers and labels could offer up a slew of different euphemisms but that would be futile.

He scurried streets partially blind, he had an eye-patch, yet he was more clairvoyant than perception itself.

I swelled with an appetite for revelation whenever I saw him. Personifying emotional assemblage. Poets are wordless. Real poets are atleast.

He said the most confusing maxims. Sunshine is wordless. I am Wordless. He was word.

-Harley 07/09/10