N/A

Matte plains of insolence-

Adjacent and brimming with intersects due intrusion.

Paper coats for pseudo-gilding walls of the indignant, bounded

Within shutters of the micro-psyche, a crescent glimpse confounded.  

Saccades ‘cross wide-eyes of a mass sentience robbed of lustrous affect and

Skimming the oaken barrel for old-fashioned prosody, partial to parched tap.

Cloven relics of nature’s wake left a prosaic aftertaste;

An ardent clambering up stiles of hoarfrost in haste

To a coniferous crown promising in sultry of a soul sinewed-

Fault the dream-laden bough’s retreating girth ‘neath a goldcrest’s brood.

Harrowing mind-body schism for rivulets streaming of quantum uncertainties.

Droves from sub-retention atomically ricochet among corners of these cortices,

The mind less traveled adorned in web and coffee-tinged de trop morbidities. 

Stop, ye, for my focal idolatry is pained but pure; for ransom my replete memory.

-J.H.

Reflections in the Twilight of Isolation- An Entry of Thought.

5:14 AM

Listening to a string quartet and desirous of the skills to play a viola to help engage myself into the universal ebb and flow around us. It is that flow we often dance around in such a way that the beauty of centeredness is forgotten and the convolvulus of soul wilts in stagnation. Beads of precipitation whisking amidst moss to form rivulets; the splutter of the downpour of the Cumulonimbus echoes whilst the plover weaves traceless through the pearled veneer above. It was a time scribes must take a pause for, as the experience is untouched by words- simply a natural and unique intersection of no style- for form and style are belonging to aestheticians and men notoriously wrapping a moment’s thistle with strings of a harp stripped barren for its beauty; never to think of the sound of its posthumous frame.

This is a shift. No more sectioning and discriminatory awareness, as all of experience exists on the same pallet; each day simply sheds a new breed of sight from the womb of short and long term embedment of memory so impressionable and yet subtle that they advantageously stake out malleability of the cortices for the crafting of sentient indents of frameless series’ -that abandon the need for the once accompanying optic saccades, for inward is the inevitable residence of reflection- and snippets of potentially unrecallable wakes of emotion and sensation that act to build the borders of experience and interaction. These borders can be stronger than the greatest will, but broken down by a mere glance, unbeknownst prior to, with an affect so striking that perception is altered pre-cognizance in that place unbound from time, the subsequent now. 

For said glance, the protruding earthy roots of a rain-glazed poplar crannied a young woman, beauty deemed opus, with gales of warmth and reverence to life as it was in that moment. 
As the flora’s sheen of the old sun illumined her face, her laughter settled in with the fleeting rain, a coalescence medicinal to the mind too tame.
You are the wake, the still, the roots of the convolvulus- Don’t allow its gnarling wilt. Craft yourself soundly- Nourish your sanctuary well.

- J. Holloway