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minor holocast at sea in Dee
by Ned Hogan Jr.

With the speed of light
(which was much too slow!)
He placed the brutal poem upon the lady's silver plate
that he now carried back
from the forge at the heart of the universe
to her sometimes sacred lap

This extrapolated 'dish'
and that
made from gathered nuggets
left in the river in the great storm's wake
(harried track!)
and he then watched his heartbeat marking itself in his reflection
there on the desert of wealth

his form looking down and upon itself
as he held the 'tray' out with both hands
and stared down into the wealth
of such magnificent spontanious art
over the cold and silver sands
a light where it was dark

the spetacular crown atop the tower
lost its brillance and voice
because the weary way there
was its power

when time finally leaves no choice
when love and tender care
becomes a song
type on the page the bower

invisible freedoms
surround our hearts
in natural melodies
sometimes we stumble into them
because of devine heraseys!
ecouraged by the label of fool
thrust upon me
by the mere sharpness of my mind
thrust upon me
by the end of time
i try not to see anyone else
but you
because what you do
to me
lets me see
that even though nothing is real
even though truely nothing can be said
even though I see myself with dread

waiting for the call from my dying lady friend

who tells me over and over that death is not the end(?)
And I think of questions
beyond
this so docile glen
within the forest of night
where opening the eyes hurts so much
where impossible sight may never touch
the source of all desire and lust

can you see that ancient journalist writing in the dark upon parchment and his memory? Can you feel his mind trying to encompass that which was outside of its own experience? The book of enoch describes the mind of a bug trying to envision the larger world behind the cockpit doors! perhaps this is where the many "levels" of heaven where spawned! An elevator! A most amazing machine to the uninitiated!
the moon

this is the one
speaking invisibly twisting with everything
integrelized because of proximity

this is the one that draws down
this is the one that raises up
both at once
perfect
like the howling dog beneath
and the path between
the breathing song and
furiously lieing silver ware
oh, all of them 'tray'-less!

desperate for nourishment his soul reached out in all directions and encountered a cornacopic pleathora of real truths and real directions to real ways. Every type of solution you could imagine. Every one real and true and straight as the arrow of light, the one that connects us all, always. But even once removed and nothing would work to free him from the growing and seemingly now dominant perception that everything was becomeing transparent. It seems that the experience of the vital demonstration of the spiritual mechanics involved here was necessary. That one must fan the flames of the emotions until they consummed themselves. Until not one tiny coal was left alive. This was too much. he felt that to let go of the feeling was to let go of the meaning. He needed that actual physical contact with the truth. Where it enthralled him to the point of becomeing a pregnant oblivion filled with the anticipation of great things, deep things, tearful joy expunging the obvious, the mundane, the cold cold mind made steel clicking against itself at the exact border between him and everything else... Oh, yes, he let his sentances run on and on, and he really enjoyed leading someone's train down a garden path(recently paved) at an unsafe speed, breaking rules because of the sound of the snake that needed to be preserved, that he just could not let die; it felt that good after the cold shower his mind had recieved when he saw, finally, that it meant nothing, really. For a while he indulged himself in glorious imagined sufferings of both body and soul. He enjoyed the looks of minds that put themselves outside simply because of his appearence. He told himself that he was not lieing because it was not his fault, he was not the cause. And then it all began to turn real.
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