WHILE RUNNING MY BODY FALLS BY MESIOYE JOHNSON
WHILE RUNNING MY BODY FALLS There is a butchered memory resting on every man. Like music we mould what is & what may not together to form a piece of ourselves, a quaver, a couplet breaking back into alphabets, so an alto of bitterness our body is in our lover's mouth becomes a medley, I mean it determines gravity of dreams, falling & rising & measuring depth of silences, of promises searching for history between a memory wearing a brown cloth of pebbles. Sometimes we know we are in the wrong place & still want to place our body right there, as if tucking a small paper in a hole too big like a wound is a way to inject healing on our shadows. My lover says I belong to prophecies of her shadow & a night falls from my eardrum making a sound of my emptiness with the ground. You say music is life, so is silence death? We get tethered to bitter halves of us & after having a fine knowledge of the darkness we just want to move to pick our reflec...