I Shall Service Forsworn Forgotten Lions, Old-Sunday Dreams I’ve Wept,I Dream Amongst The Dens, Of A Woman, And The Beasts I See

 

I shall service the Authorities of
The restless ones,

Forsworn, to deluge, of the years
And all asserted pain undone,

Yet somber are the slow deviations,

The subtle dissolution of the bitter ways,

and old-Sunday
dreams I’ve wept,

And bold bottles at peace against the walls,

The many abstract Souls upon the open wind,

the watching
lights,

Made furious without a home, so to is mine the Vagabond,

For whiskey beneath the hanging rots, and selfish bodies banquets

And did the Woman release her Son? For in the desert I sing,

The Beasts, cobras, and sorrow all massed,

to be at last upon
the Lions, then loved the old loss;

For unsure days, and the nights they had drawn to my temples,

And for the answers withheld,
By another limited light,

To quell the seething humanity, to strip the unhealthy gasp,

All agreement was abandoned, the revolutions of our hearts,

Alas, I shall service, for yet I wake, a dreaming sage does sleep,

And my body as his prison, absolute for forces lost,

I am among the Human, Among the lonely seeds,

Bloom, wilt fire, breath life akin to the inhaled refuse fruits,

And the garden along the holy gates,

But as I wandering thee request,
For all a comfort seeks,

Never challenged exiles, I sing amongst the dunes and stones,

Lions, Lions, across the
Harbors;

Do you hear me in their midst?

For Daniel dream’t amongst the Dens;

At
once

we
all

are
DIAMONDS.

Advertisements

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.

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