Ode to the Movement of Silence

The drowning lamp of post-meridian shall prelude,
a conviction of treason mirrored by distant nights;
shelter comes, yet wisdom goes and sometimes
reflective phantasms dangle in a rhythm of sprites:
hushed locutions incentivize in flushed intervals,
semblances scatter within shifts of three, —
memories like locusts entrance through a cavatina
but who’s there? a dormant plateau of dreams,
where fields of sun and sand collide,
and numberless anomalies pass by.


O’ the pretty little things ‘neath a hapless moon,
from left light comes shifting right and somewhat dull
encasing the billowed entrance of a someday
that one day may never surpass a solitary lull:
the soldiers of sentience pacify the expiring,
whispers from nicotine lips occupy expression
lack of exaggeration purely distributes the theory
of a never-ending land slide of lost suggestion,
while rubescent eyes burn the finished pine,
and mewling wraiths spend their pennies.


But later, an excursion of scarcely that a breadth,
while enthralling a chimera pleasures the association cortex;
universes hold open doorways manifested from the cerebrum
road passes slowly aligned with forests of the vortex:
hill-top seems bewildering, evaporate at shut-off
the concrete and sun-set drift like waves outward,
season of blizzard commingled in a quaff,
and winter shades shall levitate back to Edward,
while the crisp soothing aria envelopes the quiet,
and cognitive maps concentrate the abysses.


Go forth down a meandered descent, thirteen exact,
repression until the end; such in embalmed darkness;
imaginary referencing retracted but for a few, —
and silence like giants tuck the skies to starkness
but to be so used; the mind during observer bias
interrupts a quietude during earth-to-spatial motion,
in each frequency surpassing much of the last
and strangely ejected through the channeled demotion,
beyond the moving circles one now swims,
and other undulates with the Frou Frou.

~J.M. Duell


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