Around The World I Daily Drift

Those who bore
All savage state;
Who would not greet me
In the sun;

The drills in our hills
The summits in the ocean;
The rails who loath
The roads who gleam;

El Dorado released me,
After a scholarly stay in the Dome
Of golden lapis pews, and the airship we left upon;

As all Voltaires Natives sing,
The dirges of sailors, the Edmund Fitzgerald, And great Gails of November we lost;

To arrive at each beach-head,
For Spains Queen we sailed;
Fountain found and swallowed,
We had indeed conquerd time;

Yet jubilant hearts rot quick,
Through thorns of thorough waves, through thorough seas of God, amidst the even Earths;

We said Brothers, “Fraternize or die”, then the blade, Two Cities Tales, Or Leary who ascended, And Huxley graded grace;

In a book I read at an airport from Angeles, The Perrenial wings were alight like a snake,
They scanned her particles;

Then over the world in a heavy steel raven, or something a tribe in Peru once did see, sent from The Spider God, or Times mags;

Or People of the Year I saw about my days, or picking tangerines at dusk, and sky watching, or Burbanks Hills;

Or San Diego Holy, all ocean sky,
Or the Mobster graves beneath the blackjacks, and burnt out assulums we passed in the night;

The Heart Of Awareness, The Gita, The Way all unnamed, and mystic faced blue gods, who meditate in the pyres we singe;

The Bible, Bukowski, who drank rank and file, The Oxford Verse;
The Fisherman and The Carpenter
The Walrus kin killed by Salinger;

Thoreau, Transendental monks, American Scholars we were one alive, Holocausts of Xerxes, All Nazis in rows, Chopin keys fall;

The Strunk Elements, and The Periodic Tables, birthed nations; Of Jacob, Israel, of the wrestling dead, and scarred hip, alas;

The Bookmarks in Herbert, the Game of Ender, ice, Lovecraft, Jack La Delle, Moon Rivers and Blind Faith records, Or Dylan up

On my walls, in North Korea, in mass Viking graves I walked upon
In June, or in alabaster pillars of New Ceasars Rome, lost there;

Overwhelming visitors of a past,
Is all the dreams we ever lived;
And today is only the Ex of tomorrow, yesterdays die in pits;

Sterile intentions of a Golden Age,
And The Guilded twin, Twain has known, and Babel, again; and Goddess Ishtars watch our seas;

Now we see before we ask, we ask more than we need, we cannot sing among another,
The whistlers all now drunkards;

Keats kingdoms, Crowley’s dark tomes, Intrinsic IngSoc we all speak, Brother who watches Oceania, The rat cage rooms;

I sit here now and wait,
For all the suns upon the sills;
I breath in soul, all exhaled years,
Do you see this all arise?

Terms of ancient lore, or zenith Ulysses, or fallen arenas;
All the gladiators rest,
Once again their wives and grain.

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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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One Response to Around The World I Daily Drift

  1. Evelyn says:

    “We had indeed conquerd time;
    Yet jubilant hearts rot quick”
    Absolutely.
    Some success you pay for…

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