Unknown Loss, Folded Pages In The Soul

Remember and know:

Unknown loss;

To be pierced

By arrows of night,

In mud run heels,
in the dark grass.

The moon Helen, of all moons

E tu?
All fall;

When gradients of

My blood Brutus, that all Councils know,

Tell Shakespeare,
Tell Homer,
Tell tempest of the

Scottish moors;

To be hunted

by the Lady Beth,
In soft-dagger sheets,

Or unforgiven Holmes, of all prey
The Hounds;

Or Cleopatra,
Or Nefertiti, or
Ceasars red robes,

The High Thane fallen,  that all
Red Hands shake.

Or Divorced-English

In choice: To be or not,

The wives Henery head,
Who cool steel caught,

In ten final winks, that all Dicken’s
Final breaths lamented.

Or Othello, who could not
Wait; or Tranio,

Who could never
Change the wenches,

of The Shrew;

Or to Golden Holden in Heaven;

To see “Fuck” on a wall and
Abate there,

The glass, of all shattered

To float,

By ill advised Nick,

In Pools of reddened wealth,
As Fitzgerald’s spawn;

The surrender surreal, of all inane Zeldas;

The Vistas of
New Egg,

When we were
still new,

And much less bold,
But soaring on the doorway lawn;

To be lost
In misanthrope temples;

Of onyx cast,
Of old dreams,

This love, that was a Craft.

All wake!

Run with Blade Runners!

All quite mad
and bitter hats sing,

The heads,
The tea,
They keep lonely cold;

The Wonder Lands we wandered like Navajo, a Kalona strong;

All phantoms, that all specters
Of Sweet Time and Loss forgot;

To be vanquished

The truths



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 Unknown Loss, Folded Pages In The Soul

  1. Evelyn says:

    you have a certain flavor to your work.
    its very intriguing.

    • Thank you very much for reading!
      I sincerely appreciate it.

      I am always glad to create them. I enjoy varied styles and the creation of my own arrays of expression,
      and I am thoroughly pleased when they are realized as accessible to others.

      Come back any time!

      Thank you,

      J. D. Hughes

  2. lunawitch15 says:

    very touching. it reachs down and pulls strings.

  3. Kay Salady says:

    Your mind reaches in deep and pulls from every corner of thought, beyond space and time, to reach your own conclusion . . . that this juncture will also continue. Excellent writing.

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