Even If Your Closest, The Cigar Still Stings Your Lips

Have you ever had
cigar sickness

Dizzy and victory meet in the eyes
of both the victor and the
Madman alike,

Like blue-jean-ponytail poverty,
or an epileptic nun,
caught in Satans tempting strobes,

shaking like a bellydancer, her lips ripe with
wet abs-in-the
shattered light.

Or maybe just 22, smooth knees and ready for
Babies, or
Mortgages, or looking keenly to chop swadled at bent

Christmas trees,
and smell the pine
as lovers try,

no longer alone and begging for rice,
wet, white, thrown in the cold streets,

where organs
cry out for
The dead and
married ( or Christ),

What vain suffering foretold of such sorrow,
to only hear a song for you at death,

or listening dammed and dying from the
piss-stained pews, (Even Hitler had to pray and piss)

Like all
Tyrants and Saviors

I have stacks of vinyl and they sing for
those few I meet

weighted souls -unless the sorry  needle suffers- too much joy for a life to keep long, and then its back to the rice throwers,

Eve, and
Abrasive angels, who eat you from within

with their beauty,
fluttering eyes,

or when they feel
the need

Until they speak- something modern and inane- and you wallow in the guilt as she wanders off to Gomorrah,

Or the gates of private Eden, with silver sword aflame,
And red lipstick
pressed to
the hilt,

white rice
from her soft hair.

Organs wipe the coils of smoke
that live beneath

And whoever,
Love her.


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
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5 Responses to Even If Your Closest, The Cigar Still Stings Your Lips

  1. I really really really really like this.
    A lot.
    You and words work so well together.

  2. Jingle says:

    lovely words..
    positive attitude is essential for happy life.


  3. Jingle says:

    stay blessed………

    Happy Thursday.
    Thanks for sharing your poetry with us.

  4. brian says:

    nice…couple great spiritual illusions in there…and def conveys feeling..

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