Sun Rise Low, Late Over Undone Streets: North Hollywood From My Sleeping

 

6:14, Its Dim;

I haven’t slept yet.

Its so late its not night
Now,
but it isn’t day
Either.

All the little gutters have been Drained of all the overflow:
Blood,
Evidence,
Fertilizer,
Reptiles, and
Unknown fluids,
That fell during the night;

And the early street sweepers,
Rabid,
Are smoking, and hung over, and Lustfully chasing

The buzz of
A bare
And
Even Ave.

Above,
The tiny lights on the billboards die with the knowledge that the sun will sell their souls all day till dusk;

Los Angeles is on fire
Somewhere,
Always;

Advertising reigns from the sky
Not
Rain
(And heart and soul captive relate to high signs).

Icicles shimmer and fall from Pine forests in
New England
Now;

Old England is far from it
And not as cold,
And more of an Eng than the New Land,
And here, less of a land than the Ol’e Eng.

See it everywhere, its clear-

The reptiles crawl from the gutters at dawn, and they howl

Leaving convicting evidence and
Blood and all secrets (of Evil and good) below;

And here arisen, the little paper-people wander onto the Golden-State streets (that shine in retching, rising, mists),
To meet up

With the beggars, who begged
No one all night
And are
Hungry for this
Dawn.

About these ads

About Epoch Awareness. Writer, J.D. Hughes

I write. Do you read? I write. I write words: Carefully and consistently, and chaotically, from the deep pulsar unison of the still mind (or the violent undoing of the still mind); Sometimes I resemble Robert Zimmerman (my hair uncut, my mind uncut, all unregulated thoughts, wind haphazard along a pale american brow too). Sometimes, Sometimes words are fragments of paragraphs and you find them eschew in and from time, and with care, in the long ribbon fabric or one single unsealed cosmic spiral, and then they burn wild like black-holes ( birthing voids built the milky way); Still there are words so heavy and pure that they anchor fast the mind to the mere memory of their syllables in the quiet echoes, in and around, the deep violet sea of the questioning readers inner-mind. I write sentences: In strands, like silk, or links in chains, or diamond arranged compressed carbon coal electrons, or the frequency of more intimately woven atoms; In intricate quilts of reason, and warmly glowing sheets of cotton fiction that cover you at 4 am on a Sunday (with the sun bright and a bastard, soon to be hitting your face from the slats in the window shades); I write paragraphs, and as such I consider it a duty of the considerate and conflicted human to consider their conflicts human, and consider: In airports, in churches, in penthouses in Hollywood (who overlook the homeless mountains and the slanting fogs of debilitated industries, and the vacuum seduction, and lifeless Angel City in the Wests bleached blonde sand, and lids of imagery cover sad vacant eyes), in station wagons, in deep wood temples in Maine, near the Androscoginn River, where the Native Americans caught silver fish and eternity lived off communal tides to the distant ocean, which is now more black than the sky from our waste, now wrought with the studied three-headed-demon-fish, (but still a holy place Maine, it glows); In any meaningful medium, known or noun, imaginable is mans only true duty. It is mans only Deity (For what was with God, what was God? The Word was, In The Beginning). To chase the promise that reality and truth are not yet only relative devices, and leaving these scriptures: On brains, and on paper, and on papyrus, and old plaster, and on the backs of old Polaroids (once someone did at least), the thin skin on wet hands who ru
This entry was posted in Poetry, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

6 Responses to Sun Rise Low, Late Over Undone Streets: North Hollywood From My Sleeping

  1. EJ Lavoie says:

    Rarely read the “poems” offered on blogs. Usually stop after the first two lines – this was an exception. Really liked it. Stretches the mind.

    • Thank you,
      I really appreciate it.

      I am new to word press as of yesterday, I was not really sure of how easy it was to be seen on here. Its very good to know there someone still reading and writing out there.

      I enjoy changing up the formula for what I allow myself to do when writing, I enjoy stretching forms, while retaining essence. I especially enjoy it when it comes to poetry; and it is always a relief to know a new piece translates.

      I would really apreciate any imput you may have on any other works I have recently posted, I have listed a few more this evening/morning.

      I likewise would love to read somthing you have written.

  2. EJ Lavoie says:

    I’m a pretty hoary writer . . . meaning, I’m long in the tooth. My blog is:
    http://ejlavoie.wordpress.com
    Check the “About” page.

  3. It is really refreshing coming to your blog and reading your write. i will look forward to read more from you. all the best. :)

  4. sandie says:

    Forbidden
    Hidden love she found
    forbidden though it be.
    The darkness in her life
    melted into sweet harmony.
    She discovered love,
    and to her love she was shown
    and together are unbeatable
    because they made their own
    sandiedoreus.blogspot.com

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s