In the valley of *** Ben Hinnom or Gehenna with Greek roots Geena, there were confinement cells, for bodies and souls lost in leprosy, given the confinement, both lepers with the accent of isolated eternity. In both sites and at different times, leprosy caused by Mycobacterium Leprae, affected skin, respiratory tract, peripheral nerves, and respiratory mucosa. It was installed in the glen of Hinnom, punishing beings who had to purify themselves in the demon of Gehenna. In the mysterious space duality reassured two resigned spirits and two brothers, Theus who came from Israel and Vikentios from Athens, being destined for Spinalonga; when this island was only a fortification, but since then it had channels with the Manes Apsidas, referring to what they would do in the future of the great plagues, in a site of barbarism as indicated in Zion to Kidron. The political sociological relationship will indicate that the patriarchs in oligarchic and democratic governments would lie in their politics, so that beings would be faithfully represented by their origin, being free enough in the subject citizen treaty, but free in quotation marks, to define archaeological sites like these two that would affect two brothers who are confined healthy contracting leprosy in these redoubts. All in due course as hoplites who were recruited as mercenaries, and forced to die in the arena of a coliseum or in the belligerence of tyrant emperors who ruled untouchables from their throne. The phenomenon of slavery of each one refers to the fact that both geographical contexts in which they were subjected by multiple eastern and Roman legions, generating good living in the case of the hoplites up to Philip, decreeing them well to be and meeting fundamental needs for their maintenance, but behind All this well being was the scene of the life of two brothers who were separated from their family, one had great military training in the case of Vikentios, but not Theus who was more intellectual, but he was a fierce combatant against all tyrant fronts. Vikentio had disciplinary rigidity but, above all, an orthodox Christian, that he always kept him tied to his roots of sufficient freedom, to retake the slopes as he did in *** Ben Hinnom and now in Crete. Free from a final reunion and with his brother, such as Vernarth and Etréstles, who came from Patmos through Plaka crossing to meet them, and Wonthelimar from Kalydon, near the town of Elounda. Here the four swords would cross with the Fourth Arrow of Zefian, to redeem them from democratic despotism, and to be able to live as free and competent soldiers, but in the ruthless reality, they were reflectors of the flowery submission by castes and generations always, subject to the mist of slavery.

In the colony of the ***** colony, Los Manes Apsidas presided, prowling around the gates and walls of the fortification, anticipating to Vikentios that *** Bei Hinnom was the same as anakoúfisi or Spinalonga relief, articulating networks of families that were carriers of evils and plagues, that were the faithful reflection of the decline of the great empires. The rings of the fortifications should be plagiarized on the side of the south door of the Temple of Jerusalem, so both areas would be united by the rings of the barbicans but joined to defend themselves from the family roots, free from the powers that the disunited components will never return. from the Rampart of great fortification of the front wall in Spinalonga, immediately to the transom where the crossed crossbars would be fixed where the Manes Apsidas would venture, having each brother separated by this three-meter thick Rampart wall. Only the one liberation of both of them would make them cross this wall that will lead them to meet again.

Theus meets with Wonthelimar who came with his entourage from Dicte's cave, and crosses through Plaka, then crosses Theus from Kalydon, Vikentio did it through the northeast *****, both being crossed and without being in the middle of the main rampart, which was guarded by the Apsidas Manes, with the purpose of channeling them and uniting them at the southern intersection with their speeches, when they would settle from very early until the sun was pronounced through the transom, where they erred to have the right moment to communicate the Translation of Hell from Gehenna from Jerusalem to Crete, showing the advantages and disadvantages of overcoming this last obstacle presented on this Mediterranean-Aegean island.

I love spending nights on the lake.
Once the oven-like sun disappears,
things get suddenly quiet, except for
the occasional hoot of an owl, crickets, frogs
and the soft lapping of the lake on the boat.

When the moon rises above the pines
the sky lights up, like a fireworks bloom,
its reflection is brushed, in scatters on the lake,
giving insubstantial moonlight a sharp substance
not unlike a fractured, undulating, glittery lace.

This evening, there’s a rumble, stage left, off to the west,
and a thunderstorm’s growl, like a wolf on the prowl.
The wind was picking up, so we began battening down,
stowing things in the galley and taking in the flag. The wind,
had become almost solid with its insistent and restless energy.

The question, with these daily, southern, summer thunderstorms
is whether you’re going to catch the edge of it or get the full onslaught. The doppler radar, of my iPad weather app indicated the monster was headed right for us.

Just as our phones, watches and iPads began chirping
with National Weather Service, “Severe Weather Alerts,”
Charles asked, “You two still want to stay?” His voice fighting
against the stiff wind as he watched the tall pine-tree tops bob,
like boxers, afraid of the far off lightning flashes in the sky.

“Of course!” I chimed in, wearing a grin, I LOVE boat storms!
“Lisa, there’s a storm on the way but we’ll stay on the boat, ok?” I asked, trying to English the question with both a sense of adventure and nonchalance. Lisa, of course, followed my lead, saying, “Sure.”
“It’ll be ill,” I assured her.

Charles nodded and leapt to the dock, replacing the gunwale rope lines with longer dock rods to distance and secure the boat (lowering front and back anchors too).

“We’re staying,” Charles walkie-talkie’d Carol (his wife) below in the staterooms where she was probably making the beds. “10-4” she replied.
I love her, she’s so game for anything. While Charles worked, Lisa and I sealed the upper deck from cockpit (helm) to transom, putting up sturdy plexiglass windows and closing the transom doors.

Charles came aboard just as we turned up the air conditioning and thick raindrops started falling. Having finished our work, we looked up and the moon was gone, hidden by dark clouds that writhed like some angry, mythical, steel wool animal.

The rain went from a delicate pitter-patter to a generous applause and finally, a steady torrent. We felt it initially pass over us from port (left) to starboard (right). The wind whistled, like a giant’s breath, rocking the boat, alternately, in two directions. It was wonderful.

The far-off thunder had become intimate, bomb-like and personal, with its Crack-k-KA-BOOM! Every time such a concussion rocked the air, the boat and our teeth, I cackled, with joy, like Poe’s Madeline Usher, the madwoman in the attic.

“HOW DO YOU LIKE IT!?” I yelled to Lisa, but she made an ‘I can’t hear you,’ sign. Carol, who’d been working the galley, produced yummy tuna-fish sandwiches, potato chips and milk. We played a dominoes game called ‘Mexican Train’ until the rain stopped, then we watched ‘Jaws’ on the fold-down TV. Lisa had never seen it!

The boat had rocked, lightning had flashed, the cutting wind howled and the thunder boomed, but it was the clawing rain, like a tiger trying to break into the boat, that made it an unforgettable night on the lake.

she had an uncle who spent
twenty years in the ring,
landing solid blows until  
he landed
in a downtown Oakland hotel,
older than he, wrecking ball got it
in the dawn of the cyber age
but for ten droning years,
it was his cage

he never had a title shot
but he kept his belly full
and had cash for the women, the drink  
never drove a car, cabbies knew him
and knew the smell of gin meant
“keep the change”
  
when his legs got weak
and his left eye went to blur
the money stopped rolling in  
but he still thirsted for the gym, the gin
he got himself a gig at Big G’s  
just enough hours to clean out the showers,
to keep the johns from smelling of ****,  
and a few greenbacks comin’ his way  

he would end each day
alone in his room, inhaling the gloom  
that seeped over the transom  
like smoke from a smoldering fire  
but there was no fire left in the ancient hotel  
or Parrot’s burned up belly  
only fading memories
of a wounded warrior  
who taunted his opponents
by mimicking every word they said  
in the ring, where he earned a bird’s name  
but never its sweet song, before time
took its tattered toll

Your ****** gestures
invite me to peer at
them through a
transom which is a two-way
thought transmitter!

rain illuminates
the pathway
by virtue of street lights
iridescent
in the vapour
past the drug dealers house
to the dark shadows
of conifers
whose outline hides
the shape of potential
muggers lying in wait
I watch through the arrow slit
of the bathroom transom window
of my fortress home
cleaning my teeth
while my ring doorbell's
paranoid cyclops eye
keeps vigil

Proem

After Sir Thomas recovered the Spear of Destiny and returned it to the Pope at the Vatican in Rome, he remained there for several months serving His Excellency, attending meetings, and recovering from several minor injuries sustained while recapturing the Spear that pierced the side of Jesus the Messiah. Sir Thomas could have stayed as a guest of the pope in one of their lush suites, but he chose the bare walls of a guest bedroom at the local Knights Templar castle. The pope then called upon him for his next assignment: Leave Rome immediately, by boat, again, back to Constantinople. **“Head off a Scot by the name of Sir Robert Bruce, whom our intel indicates has a map and is currently on his way in search for the Holy Grail. Sir Robert is a stubborn ally. You will help Sir Robert, but convince him that the chalice of Jesus belongs here in Rome.”

Prior to shoving off the west coast of Italy, a few miles from Rome, Sir Thomas wrote the following message, and placed it in a bottle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My dear sweet wife and babe within her womb
The five long years since I had lost you both
I prayed for inner peace despite my joy
Your both in heaven; worship Thee Most High

Because your love exceeds all life itself
My lips will glorify you ever more
I praise you for the rest; my living days
Your name I lift on high with my bare hands

Was on my bed that I remember you
I think of you the watches of the night
The shadow of your wings I cling my soul
The depths of which my sword shall honor thee

I yearn affections taste where two come one
The seed by faith that yields abundant life
Endures celestial kingdom's perfect place
It brings this missive to its endless oath:

To bless, release my restless heart that bleeds
Commit my swords allegiance to the Lord
To you Dagung the earth is smaller still
For every inch be searched to see your face

You disappeared, not dead but still alive
I feel the transom temper my resolve
For in this ship another search begins
The Holy Grail; Dagung I'll find you both

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Postscript

I toss the bottle through the wind to stormy sea
Inside the missive of a knight in love with thee
______________

The second light of sunrise filters
through the blinds of a broken transom window, gliding the kitchen.
There’s an instant
in which bottomless jars, worn out dishes
and a headless Mickey magnet that has fallen off the fridge
Seem to levitate in a sea of dusty honey.

I haven’t witnessed the scene.

I think about all the other ordinary prodigies
That must be happening somewhere.
A trembling chrysanthemum blossoms in the frosty gardens of Nagoya.
Six grey wolves fail to hunt down a white deerling.
A middle aged man whispers into a hollowed stonebrick, then covers his secret with mud.
Two  giraffes disappear in the middle of a starlit Colosseum, to the astonishment of a roman dilettante.
Twenty years of boredom; then an ex con feels the tact of dewy grass under his feet again.
In a balcony over the Seine, two lovers prepare a padlock.
Some skinny kid from La Matanza scores a last minute free kick to win the neighborhood derby.
A pretentious teenager watches The purple rose of Cairo for the first time, and  discovers his true calling.
Days before dying, an old man stops by a bakery and inhales the same caramel fragrance he would inhale in the afternoons of his childhood summers.
An older brother decides to throw a game of Mario Kart to his sibling.
On a deserted reed bed, a blackbird sings the most beautiful tune in the world. There is no one there to listen.
A single mother finishes cooking breakfast for his son, and decides to let him sleep for another five minutes.
A physics grad student solves the meaningless quantum noise model that’s been torturing him for weeks, and stops wondering why he didn't choose to be a lawyer
Two old friends share the same espresso in a hidden Manhattan coffeehouse, perhaps for the last time.  

None of this everyday miracles are
happening to me.

The Trail Creek,
could not hold
the flow of
a million million
drops of rain.

The bank let loose and a Gulch became a river,
basements of homes and stores became indoor pools but
not one resident was close to foolish enough to go in and swim.

The streets became
a river of
a muddy coffee
coloured toxic feared
enemy, that had
no weakness but
time.

An apartment building fell as the Columbia River swelled,
eroded and took the ransom till it flowed down stream and
was rumoured to have crashed into a transom of the old bridge.

So many memories swept away down stream, many more, could
not resist to power of the water to remove and ruin, words and images,
by force, and in time, dirt and sediment remained everywhere, after the flood.

Tears replaced rain,
in time water,
all of it,
was drained away,
peoples lives strained.

To a ten
year old boy
this was big!
And as the
Columbia was growing
larger each day
parks disappeared as
the danger neared
I sang, "rain,
rain, go away
we have had
enough, there is
no where to play.


The flood of
nineteen sixty-nine,
was a vivid a
disaster you will,
ever find, but still
the City survives.

Keep sharpening your teeth on my
iron fittings and feeling up my
velvet underground upholstery with
your streetwise alley cat paws and big
gun Remington revolver ballpoint pen
Try to rob these recondite rubies from my
helicopter heart if you can and
follow my complimentary contrail with
your caloric vocabulary until you tire of
my transom and finally bolt like the January wind
I might stay in midnight sight just barely long
enough for my spinnaker curls to furl in twists
around your wrists and make you my
pie in the sky prisoner forever

Written by Sara Fielder © May 2015

Vernarth in the evening of his life is called again to raise his sword, perhaps following the paths of Paul of Tarsus, precisely here his Word would begin in the figure of a Hoplite who will redeem the oppressed, who will reinforce the growth of the seeds, that will give hope to those deprived of Faith when they have to face their own Apokálypsis that would allow them to take with them when embarking on this adventurous daring in pages of life that follow that for many will be unknown. The seer's paranormal experience in Patmos will vivify his commendable virtue of confessing himself as a defender of Life and Death from the same intermediate final point, to then reach the nexus of gratitude that compensates that leads to make amends when leaving his abode naked and return every six months to Sudpichi in Solstice, and Equinox in Spring to Patmos explaining the premiere of this final event.

Vernarth's distinctive and codes will swell an intertestamental Biblical event, made up of crude abstract and demonstrative images that from so much decanting could be assimilated to what the Mashiach did in the Siloam Cistern, more than water being the same Hydor that is born from the origin and reaches the end of the erudition. The desperate desire to limit the spirit of a soldier is clouded within his own microclimate, wishing for a possibility that lies in the impossibility and fruits of the fan that separates the Universe from the Earth. From here the Faith is professed by the reflections of all those who have lived in a body of Flint, as were their parents freed by Vernarth, letting rest the readings of the sunset to those who from Flint have become meteorites that wander through the universe. As possible Christians to re-convert after a pre-tribulation or a new order, separated from what deprives us of new incursions. The Apokálypsis according to Vernarth does not diverge from Saint John; rather it tends to seclude itself from all the windstorms of divinities that are intermingled in its mysteries from all the exuberances of an endless gospel, which moves the hair of the Yahweh with the scent of lavender even within the pantheon itself after three days. The mystery of not understanding that a common man bears stamped on his body all the signs that give observance of a Passionate John that is in all of us having to share his silence within us, as suggested by the silence of which we are fertilized by clairvoyance’s of Patmos more than the consequences of some supra desire of Vernarth to cover some hint of autobiography, but more generously than the doors of his Megarón or Dypilon, be clairvoyance that shows us that the doors are the unknown within what is and we cannot Observe, V.G. as is illustrative in Spinalonga when Marie des Vallées settles at the point of the salvation of Theus and Vikentios all behind the transom as a consistent metaphysics of the unfulfilled desires due to burdens of other souls in salvation entrusted to resplendent beings. This is testimony to buried or invariable enemies such as Edomites with the affinities of the Seleucids or Pharisees with the Primitive Christians in the channel of each word that interprets the opposite diameter adaptable to a prayer that circulates the course of what an exegete does well If the original word of Vernarth's testimony of never perishes to aspire to do as the manah on the flowers that well deserve to perch on the Xiphos, where the central nerve of its shoe is the Baldric, many times it turned only in the battlefield when Vernarth used both hands, what a mystery! Here is the glossary of what is double-edged and double-handed metal when its length is pointed to the edge of the world where the Sun at its tip let the Light penetrates. Each unknown hemisphere will be possible to slice with both edges of each Xiphos as interpenetrated bronze and iron until it dissolves in the light of the Spring Sun.

All the causes were weighted to a grandeur where the messages of recomposing all the patrimonial legacies that would be the influence that everything could decline in the grandeur of bloodcurdling screams from the temples, which remained in the dark because they did not know who to unbind from the co-responsibility of seven churches of the Hellenic Elegies; from Ephesus to Laodicea trying to remove from the jaws atrocious empires that sentenced policies with more than a thousand years without having any more than a macular century. Vernarth in the depth in which nothing bothers him incites his sensitivity with what reduces the pain in his compassion of the 1st century, which will never stop passing through the well-deserved waking time in all the streets of Greece in which all his traces are they shuddered in challenges that deserved to be from a great classroom that is oversized more than any possible Odeon to fill with spectators from a well-to-do society and satisfied as it seems today with a high price paid for an unworthy degree.

Also, his apocalyptic metaphysics flees by whole perverted societies, and not half due to points of tension of his overwhelming immorality, and defense of all nature that does not corrupt itself, perhaps from an echo locked up when converting from Laodicea to Ephesus as if he were to remake Vernarth's Inverted "V" as the initial contact point of these seven derivations of his decline. The barbarians are at the foot of the very door that enters rather by inertia, and decline from the extinction of the Sun to later redefine it through cycles from spring to winter as we will see that it will emerge with the Duoverse manifested, after trampling on the beast that feeds on of pain and ingenuity from which all our destinies are focused to be swallowed by the snout of a battalion of enemies that migrate from the beast, but they do not realize that this is how calls should be made to all the empires that leave to his abandoned combatants, left on burning pyres immune, punished by flames that will never consume him, who were dazed and with their temper will come out alive with bodies that do not belong to us, annoyed at not prospering because of this anti-divine ****, understanding that the harshness of our tears will not make us neutral or worthy of the joys of suffering together what belongs to us in a body already sacrificed, this is the Apocalypse of flourishing images that are directed in processes of slaughtering the lamb that I cannot and will not be able to identify with the apparent strength of knowing how to be forgiven or undermine the riches of a leadership that for long millennia hoarded riches and never delegated its feigned goodness to us where the grass grows and twists from its root, rethinking days to count and increasing the agony of counting the simulated strengths that never let us enjoy.

It must be understood that all the opposing forces merged with the numbered days of a new rebirth, with the cries of Vernarth from Hyperborea, the pre-tribulation from Erebus or Sheol, from the anguish of the pectoral or Lynothorax from which the days counted in the same distance of traveling in the Purgation or Katartirio of the total confinement of which could be mentioned shouting in the acoustics of the Valley where the last word will remain. We place ourselves in the extravagance of which the rays of luminance deliver us the entire body of credibility to reach the step of happiness that will flow from the first and inaugural vision that confirms the first of the first of the alchemy that has been positivist, even of what paradoxically resurrects not expecting to be who we expected it to be, but despair is cast down in an act in which Vernarth dares to let go of the Mashiach's hand, to go help his parents from being petrified by the Flint that It would be provided for the end of the world with the prompt assistance of St. Jerome of Estridon as it was for an act where the Dragon calmed down, and stopped moving its tail, perhaps from the Green Dragon of Slovenia or its offspring for spreading within the world expelling fire with scales, horns that could be trusted from the Ibex of Valdaine, the Dragon of the Stained Glass of the Cathedral of Avignon hitting with its tail the Portals of Saint George, stating that such time the Nibelung Ring Cycle with Siegfried or secular specimen of the Draconian descent of the Merovingians, of the very Greek Drakon that began to subjugate Patmos in the year 76 AD. C. in between and badly wounded between the rocks of the Wind Tunnel of Profitis Ilias or as the dragon could be welcome, and if it were Lohikäärme Finnish descent stopping Soviets on their borders of blood that roars fire from the deepest corner of their land. The Greek serpents were born in the seas for several miles around where there were no other species but them, because if they had they would have been devoured by the great Ha-Shatan with ten horns and seven heads, much of the literary inspiration of San John is in Greek, but it is more likely that he originally came through the Near East. In the embryonic Roman Empire, each military cohort had a particular identification Signum (military standard), after Trajan's Dacian wars in the east, the military standard of the Dacian dragon entered the legion with the Sarmatian and Dacian cohorts: a large fixed dragon at the end of a spear with large open jaws of silver and with the rest of the body formed of colored silk. With its jaws facing the wind, the silky body was inflated and undulating, resembling a windsock, the Dragon continues to travel along roads that are the marks of the chariots without any mercy to those who awaited them at their destination with legions throwing hot breath that only Saint Jerome of Stridon knew how to mitigate. This huge lizard will continue to lay siege to the evil that cannot contain it, just like the basilisk in the Raedus Codex to imbue the never-burning blades of fire from the Apocalypse of Saint John, by chance with the fiery semblance of a Wyvern in the dome of the cathedral of Saint Nicholas in Slovenia, swallowing his own fire. With a fateful language of birds that would codify Siegfried that the end of everything comes from the seas of Patmos with heated water.

That winged creatures will come copiously to quiet the world to the world of Miðgarðsormurinn perhaps in Jämtland, besieging the Soviets like a serpent more than winged in vigor that shakes the Celtic tree with its Birch and Beech in Solstice or a dragon that was not with wings glued with wax that crashed when falling before reaching Sicily as is the case of Daedalus and Icarus, or the Lindworm dragons that expelled fire from the Mörser 16 howitzers of the Second World War. All these wealthy treasures are fundamental pieces of all the paradigms that form the prelude to a History that has blinded us without giving rest to everything that surrounds us, not even lavishing Christian burial with evil eyes that are characteristic of the dragons that they spit fire from your back, stalking a Britannia Pendragon.

Much of the banners, heraldry, and heraldry bear this emblem of beings made up of male and female offspring to form as a family the antigen of Slavic Bulgarian humanity, as a dissident figure that was torn from the edges of the Apocalypse to protect the crops where probably Rains of gold would come for his crops if he were male, and female if it were a prophecy of bad deeds to denigrate the farmer's seeds. Strong-blooded dragon would be Zmiy, Ukrainian carrying a four-legged beast, and on each leg a Cornucopia for golden petals that are collected from other maidens who will never stop being lush, protecting the arteries that rain healthy blood from Ukrainian maidens like the Zmei. From Zsablas that carry the Polish Smok on their backs that will be reborn from this apology of the Dragon of the Apocalypse that freed them from the Katyn Forest, on the banks of the Vistula where Bogdan drank water with his Zsablas to go free the Heroes of Smolensk and each Polish officer who had a Dragon stamped on his forehead, and also on the Coat of Arms of the Cracovians in Piasts of Czersk, fleeing from the cellars of some Warsaw revolt.

The climbing of the Basilisks of the Profitis Ilías Wind Tunnel will reign throughout Hispania as a prophetic emanation from the mouth of San Juan in Asturias and Cantabria with the magnificent silhouettes of the mountains in the Dragon Saw, followed by gargoyles that come to life in the peaks as a young Hoplite who wears his Áspis Koilé polished to annoy the dragon, which is nothing more than the basilisk when he was tricked by the Raedus Codex by mistaking them for his own offspring, thus allowing those who went to the Investiture of the Himation. It will be the eponym of Sugar, a Basque masculine god, who is often associated with a serpent or a dragon, but can also take other forms. His name can be read as "male snake".

Marielle de Quentinnais shows us in Saint George and the Dragon in the era of the Antipopes in Avignon, of which Saints and Blesseds would fight with the powers of the Dragon as in this sub-sequence that was released from Forli, with great similarity to the Mercurial Ambrosia due to Saint Mercurial as the laurel of Christianity over the idolatry in which terrified people did not sleep because of the frightful tremors of Forli and Forlimpopoli. Possibly, Saint John, the Apostle helps them put the stoles around the cornered Dragon's neck. Every evil force that is not defeated is a postponement of that moment in which it will fall surrendered, as it was from the original of the Dragon Hunters like Saint John of Patmos styling in the acroteras, and ledges of the Megarón that points to the Aegean seas to see if some of them are coming regurgitating the intact body of Margarita de Antioquia, that burst from the black belly of the Dragon saying "Draco vivit in Homine, non in Legendis" "The dragon lives in Man, not in Legends"

Having established Draco Vernarth Apocalypsis liturgy "Apocalypse of the Liturgy of the Dragon of Vernarth" the message continued along the path of Hydor where precisely the defenseless doors will be protected towards the enthronement of Silence with the ardent hope of Salvation as evidenced by the Pauline message "Marana Tha” building the coming of the Eternal that with all its dimensions will transform the collapsed world, tearing the senses that can reach the trade that transforms the ritual that is entrenched in the genetics of eternity in the tail of the Dragons that have formed classes and subclasses of heraldry of the Black Templar Knights, who roam on the run, creating the confusion that the medieval feudal mysteries were the continuation of an antiquity even if hostilities did not exist unless the tails of the basilisk of Patmos are crossed with some science from Ephesus to Pergamon , with the providence of a god in extinction that s ea disobeyed by his troops, and is bloodily decimated by the suffered trances of evil from which the ill-fated Knight is transformed into his own Dragon bled and immolated.

The end is not made with a mere vision of a Draconian Liturgy, from the year 72 AD. the Roman legions of Palestine were uncrossing where voices were heard like an occupied face of land but free of religious authority, which in one way or another saw the contemplative passage of half kindness or benevolence of a Caesar that would later be followed by the chins of fire of the Dragon, always escorted by Vernarth who lived and heard everything succumbing to imperial systems that were attached to filings of Hebrews that burned on their backs, to corners not sharpened by Greek spears to corner the frequency of a detractor of symbols of the Apocalypse, that was embodied in Vernarth with sumptuous flint that adhered to the Áspis Koilé or smaller Peltas that became prosaic to arrows that adhered to the tin shaft to vindicate itself in the foliage, as a recurring expression of the apocalyptic mentality assumed by recognizing that the Apocalypse is lived inside, and nothing on the outside that corrodes more than its own entrails. Indeed, everything private and non-transferable exhorts us to the end of the melodrama from where we must share hearts for those who keep their manners, and make the opening of the Kassotides a tiny possibility of change after Vernarth realizes that he has the furthest possible the dung of the Human Dragon, creating a dominant culture that recovers what enables us to preserve in its own Identity, illuminated and reinforced by conviction.

Vernarth, a few steps from falling from the abyss, makes his prophecy to ask the sky, the Mashiach, and Spílaiaus to release the chains of Kairós, so that the genre of granting life revives the system of the flame of the omega point, which then is reversed in celestial spasm, strongly grasping the tail of the dragon that will transport him with three lightning bolts and trumpets with the seven trumpets that will leave them in Delphi according to the nature of the Cassiotis or Kassotides moat, as a praiseworthy insurrection of being reached by a metaphorical being in Daniel as an apocalypse that will indicate that rain of light and fire will flow from on high, but they will all be directed from Patmos to Delphi.

Vernarth joins the Maccabees to obstruct the Seleucids, as the two books of the Maccabees tell, who start a ****** guerrilla war against the oppressor, and the prophet Daniel chooses a totally alternative and non-violent path. This shows that the worst militia of an armed man is to break with the sovereignty of his oppressed soul, and then be batoned in literary artifice like books from the present to a past with leaders buried in the ruins of lost civilizations, as in the case of the Seleucids and Edomites in open bread on themselves by Mikaiyáh, Archangel Saint Michael. Behold Vernarth where each gloss of contracted episodes never disengaged from the muscular tail of the Dragon that evidenced his vision of St. John, in such expectation that it resolutely rose from the heights of the Iridescent Nimbus, subduing all empires in the tail of the Dragon. The dragon that shakes the resistance of the ungovernable walls, but not the law of the powerful who makes himself believe, but the muscle piece that is rooted in Tel Gomel, is nothing more than the Holy Scripture of the duality of Saint John the Apostle / Vernarth; both as a monosemic (uni-meaning) and univocal lexicon that penetrated with all the desire of the heart moving them together, to decipher after the year 96 AD, towards the unveiling of Sardis to Laodicea with the Iscaton that is subtracted from the Dragon's Tail.

Down the deer path, thick with ****,
to every hard to find
creek bank in the world,
there's a busted dinghy,
a forgotten sloop dream,
with a mudstuck sprung transom,
a sky beckoning bow,
tied to a cattail or some other
tenuous stem.

Down the deer path, thick with ****,
the willows, reefed in a gale,
cringe in the rising crest,
and a busted dinghy
lifts on a swell and bellows
against the cleat to slide clean
to the sea, to a young boy's
landlocked dream of spray,
hard weathers and anywhere
but here night-watches.

All the colors of elsewhere,
the splendid regatta of the never-seen,
the gleaming spice and bent strange
tongues of the could have been - mold,
dip and sigh, lift and strain,
again and again,
upon a cleat,
upon a rope,
upon a cattail
or some other
tenuous
stem.

The monolithic columns were beginning to be built that transferred to the transition columns of the period of the 6th century BC. That they would stipulate the fixed number of units of the Doric columns that would be installed towards Vernarth in the transom that would join the crossbars between Mount Profitis and the Iridescent Nimbus, representing a theosophical concept, which when divided into the chromatic ones would materialize, making a commendable incipient epoch of eternal humanity, where the individualities were decompressed from the descendants for more than 500 thousand years in the perspective that would allude to the logos of the Universe, and that very few of their ins and outs were unraveled in the convergences of their diction, before they could be concretized facts that exceed the reality of a theory that is not proven when it is really all consummated. And although everything is the result of a period that will not be reissued again, everything in the Apokálypsis would be of renewal and thoughts with characters of the Factotum interspersed with the forces of the Universe, Elementals and Spirituals that would be teleported in the trans-religious vehicle of Vernarth , with its own intellectual scope that would go back to expressions of philosophical writing but with the grace of the Logos that would redirect itself through vestiges, where there are disquisitions in the claim of Saint John the Apostle referring to that beginning that everything was re-indicated as Genesis was, in which this world has already proven is only the manifestation of a new Universe that would leave the spare one, and would give us the Duoverse full of Light and Hope, vindicating the divine concept in all the voices that were never heard by the fine ear of conception. of the Camera Obscura, where all the voids of the Universe would be engaged in the strengthening of man through super credibility, and d e the support of pre-knowable favors, based on the Logos of hearing everything that is heard, and saying everything that is spoken ..., creating the pronunciation is everything first, and that the word is of significance in what is pronounced in all the processes of withdrawal and insistence that our evidences be resonated, allowing that what remains to be included is the incarnation of a Creator of worlds where no body has been occupied, nor that all the spheres that govern him are in the capacity of the will of empowerment, which is recited in all the multi-evocations, which come from all the well-smelling essences of Cosmic Thought and the Logos of the Monolithic Columns, attracting and magnetizing what “is not thought” to become the verb that resonates in the form of the waves of its creation and of the sense of existence, with the only spiritual spirit that denies all capacity to increase all the plans that have to be made and that are to re-study, under a world that belongs to those who have been humiliated of their will, who have been sullied and who will be liberated in their own exaltation where the words will be lost so that they can later find themselves in the experiment that whips the truth, in the bed of things that swirl in a cosmos that is fed up with being the same and that no one dared to know more than a Peri Kosmous, which of course will give the origin in everything that remained in the accent for those who listened to him hiccuping on the side of a thoughtless tree. Irrational reflections took over the entire heritage of what was the essence of a Christianity that was beginning to be renewed on Patmos, where the experience was those of a very early encounter with the Truth that was a simile of every basis of truth contained in the genome that is woven into the lordships of which it has only the sharpness of facing the self-confidence of the chills, and of the fright when its meaning leaves you speechless.

The muted iridescent leaves the branches of the trees more significant than the cosmic thought itself, which was the light of life in all the voices that cheered him where nothing could find conceptual footholds in the gaze of a sigil of abstract love, only letting the testimony of beings of Light ennoble the capacity of a love that boils with love under every expiration in the darkness itself, as is Wonthelimar full of the flower of Liz that lies in its familiar heraldic. Everything is detachment in the seed that whimsically delivers its fertile axiom in the purity of the layers of the land of Palestine, where thousands of routes of donkeys do not cease to infuse events from the bases of custom and to move where there is no shelter, but there is an illusion that everything happens on Earth and that it is the same gender than itself, almost more eloquent than those who dare to say that everything comes and goes from this earth loaded with Cosmic thought, loaded with inalienable rights where the beneficiaries will be benefited. doubly, and that being a witness to the glory is the same grace that lulls the feeling where everything is Duoversal in a thought that replaces the one that will partially follow the one that comes, for its concepts and true plans where everything and everything will be part of the Prologue of Vernarth in the encounter of a Purgation that utters all the gales of the Meltemi that will pierce all the orchards where they will finally be able to rest on the head of Jakob, and l The fruits of the Faith of Elohim by recidivism will give the world courage by not being afraid of the changes of the foliage, which are from their own repose in the garden that makes them ascend, which abstracts them in the predominance and in the shallow laws of a Occultism that is associated with universal ideas, that puts names and pro-names in powers that are only subtracted with humility in the echoes of personal power, and in what their foliage radiates, that with the piece of a commemorative arrangement of Lilies, now nothing It mattered as a conceptual universalism, without the axial that rusts in the tendency that after its numerals running in different directions or senses, when contemplating itself from a ruler of the cultural word, being intelligence that transverts the dyes of knowledge in the Greek or Hebrew gnosis, that Vernarth or Etréstles could never take back the barge that took them from Sardinia to La Spezia, or that whatever it was like from a sequence shot could be duplicated with the hidden part of a Duoverso, to always have a substitute brother, and that he does not lack when the effect of his occultism is going to emerge in the Aramaic voice that makes the walls of the oropharyngeal trunk creak, with the thought that it makes an elixir of generational life, when the force that It propels a complete involvement, by shaking all the spheres that were anodyne with a new gesture in a dawn of Eternal life.

The category of anodyne value is that what collides with the solid elements what could be in the new essence of an elemental rebirth, and of occultism that only transgresses the ideas that are proper to those who rectify a greater degree of physical forces than move the world for the minors who sustain the microcosm, before a micro thought that was sometimes more contemplative, of what its inheritance as a software perfects, and that has to be descended in its hereditary integrity as "Inheritance", devoid of any individuality that makes an omen the real estate of the anhistorical sense, perpetuating the anhistoricism that refers to a denial of the relationship with history, in the historical advance or the custom, such as the frequent criticism that the facts reveal a nuance of weakness Where would Alexander the Great's record change, if he had been protected by Vernarth before he was consumed by malaria, or had been abused by his own commanders? They have a trophy of a fever that offends further from everything that is ignored if it is not a real argument, and may have lived many more than the same context of knowing or ignoring what happened, that is why their anhistoric polytheistic-social will describe the vision more adjective of who detaches himself from his history, and repairs in history itself the secondary planes where only a submitological discourse would take him to the source of the timeless Macedonian seat.

Finishing the thought
Producing commentary
With or without meaning
Measuring space on a page
Of unknown value
Awakening a prism of the intellect
Printed against a background
Of tangerine
Books filled with words
Amounting to nothing
Thoughts piled one on another
Illuminating hidden understanding
Through a transom of enlightenment
In the age of reality
Never forgetting to cut and paste
In a journal kept hidden under the bed
Thoughts of great minds
Produced in history
Resolving complexities of hidden meanings
And finishing the thought

7/22/19

www.brucelevine.com
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B07485W4Q1

Drinking four hours now
in a pool hall, Larkin folded
behind me as a I draw
back the cue. Distressed,
lines snap the stroke:
The rapid clouds, the moon’s cleanliness.
Not tonight: clouds crawl
on sick bellies to an Alka-Seltzer moon.

But drink gone dead, without showing how
to meet tomorrow – is molded
perfectly to this blind drunk, thawing
beneath breezy transom, getting dressed
for a ride home after going for broke,
drinking anesthesia and losing all finesse
early in the binge, kindly corralled
by patient friends deaf to last call's croon.

A funerary dirge
Blows in softly on the breeze
Distant and muddied by the
City Rhythm thrumming and thumping quietly between me and the revelry trumpeted bold and brassy piercing the caucaphony intermittently
Mixing melodies of bouncing horns into
A melodrama drawn in minor key

A black cat skulks the shattered streets around me underneath the shadows cast by broken rigs of steel and octane
Bouncing on dinosaur goo baked and shaped into ***** donuts filled with pressure almost explosive if released suddenly.

He meows softly from the street-
side of a broken boxwood promenade,
Unkempt and cracked, between he and I,
Sat upon the low steps of a split landing
Leading to the threshold, transom, and door of
1603 Rendon St.
Somewhere in New Orleans
during the week to be in Louisiana
- Mardi Gras -
(Deep Gras to those who know it)
the trumpeted herald of the Holy sacred Lenten season of self imposed sobriety
But here we are, all by our lonesome
just me and myself
And also Steve.


(Steve I just made up. There is no Steve. Well… not really.. kinda well. It doesn’t matter. It’s nothing…
But that’s the thing)

I put my hand out,
“Are you familiar?”
                                         Mow

“Tsc tsc tsc… no that’s not your call?”
Pss Pss Pss

                            Mreooow!

“Who are you? Why are you staring at me” the miniature panther seemed to think. He won’t much come nearer, rather he skirts a radius clear about me, but he lays down lazily on the roots of a laurel oak not far, but no closer, and stares and stirs and mews a few times softly and then slinked away silently off somewhere,
as if magically, without me seeing
Him leave.


Him was familiar.
Him definitely seemed
to be a warning of something
coming;

“I hope it’s a good thing!.. “
I thought - intentionally naive -
“That’d be nice.”
“Something good, for once.”

(Like me behaving… That’d be nice to see.)

Good Ol’ Steve…

I wonder if he’ll come back later…
…and if his life is interesting.


A siren wailing in the not too distant city
Reminds me I still hear,
That I’m still here.
just out here in it
chasing dragons and meeting demons
Witnessing magical mysteries
all through the streets…

A constructed carrier
at rest
this
now state set to seek
next via
next via-ble duct-
--- course, of course, I think
fluid mind wandering, conducting
place in time aware, I am, bleeding out…
then I see
you may be, if I can,  see you bleeding real,
stretch the point I make to yours,
touché,  eh… shall we by
chance, feel around for a grip
a hold on, seep in, through to sense

some thing sense, sol-idity, I think
I sense seeing sometimes smells good,
some times other… space is the why
since time took my cares away,
suddenly, how is immaterial
so far as any given word
could ever care…
space
you sighed, looked at me askance,
asked me if I thought I could dance.
-------
ductile (adj.)
mid-14c.,
"hammered, beaten out or shaped with a hammer,"
from Old French ductile or directly
from Latin ductilis
"that may be led or drawn,"
from past participle of ducere
"to lead" (from PIE root *deuk- "to lead").

From 1560s as
"flexible, pliable;"
1620s as
"capable of being drawn out in wires or threads."
Of persons,
"capable of being led or drawn,"
1620s.

hardwired, intuitive art… hammered home,
the point of any thing made most honed…

Klang. Echo from ever.

A via duct to hold a thought,
writ once right to left,
then bent this other way,
construed to sense in you,
as you
see time from the underside.

Look up inside the mind you
authorize to come and see,
is this me thinking each line,
are you listening to the real as
ever life  
in tumult considered
common sense, edge wisdom limits
felt
thus far, not further, sings the shore,
wait to see, wait to know, wait to feel
the settlement

intent on spreading comfort, safe
and solid, sound somewhat other wise,
at the bottom of it all,
at the very be-gin engineering conference.

What do poets imitate? If the imitators
are the proverbial poets who trouble the polis,
and not pretenders, bent to be other than,
inner getic agoraphobic aggregators
of scattered knowns, organic sword
dust collector on the hearth of Haephaestus,
hanging where my uncle hung the Winchester,
where now my thread of thoughts en now,
I bend in time slowing sent to
signal me, come and see, and I wonder
if you recall the time this phrase formed
this door,
the closed off sense, since when began, earlier
in mindless archaia sorting stages, filters formed
from sticks and stones and shattered bones,

seeing time, from the canyon floor,
the river is new,
the course is old.

All any canyon does is carry fluids down
to the solar pump,
as the world turns, it turns for cold
wishing to be warm and hot wishing to cool,
being never willing to unknow being
the reason things change
on a regular basis,
at all  angles off the point stretched
from all sides, to form
a floor, for us to see up from.

A series of days- accrue to the appointed time…

From the instant in thin time,
when the last grandmother with no child, back
in the time
of motherhood's highest value,
once,
as long as
any real story told tellers is real, ago, long
in the state of no begun ending,
sensing ever
unrelated state - single mind stability
life as a point, has an
up, up - on a moment, much like now, though
thicker in some sense, things we knew by rote,
seemed right to some, and practical,
- degated knowledge delegated
- upright walking, one way
- pfft - first act, silent
- pht pht pht, no- yes no\hmmm
- set this straight,
- equal and opposite, see-parted out
- breathing in aaaaaaaaaaaaaa
- perfect balance stop
- I am afraid I am doing no good.
God's only fear, the very beginning of wisdom.
Po-et-try- umph-oommph, feels so
good, hurts so bad, feels so good, oh no
virtual
- creation, in no time.
knowing needed limits, lines,
edges
form -freaking stringy gnosis, know, is not, is, isnot
wiping gnostic snot,
will of me says, this one thing
I think you know,
theory of mind, I think you know
differing
is how life ever matters, well,
and good
take comfort in doing
best nexts, from the penultimate
quest-ion sprung from the fear of failure
to launch.
Chiral sorting started from a way
made to hold two bits worth of e,
outside time's distance inversing rule,
being
is another pose supposed effectual, we

lift up the feeble hands that hang down,
jump and dance,
orantic, antic anticipate, seeing
all hands raised, I know,
a thousand thousand times, I know
all hands, joy bound,  thinking
we should clap.
free the non applauded hand's value
each to form a half clap
- shake
hands hindered from the knack needed,
feel the sense, of knowing this the other way,
animus in animated wedom,
hanging from a tree,
see, be the idea that knowing is.
Only the idea, not the constituent parts,
only the knowns
being formed, first seeds of this
said to have been
forbidden tree, bending, fully fruct-
ified branches -
low hung knowns, children's first wish to know
another certain thing,
if you don't mind,
if I had known you knew,
here is beyond understanding,
in the overall we stand beneath,
feeling
CRAZY LOST AND HOPELESS
uplooking each bit of sense, since feeling once
a thought,
a curious thought, a window above a door,
vvassistdas, transom
AH,
architectural acknowledgment of wind
and its will to cool too hot and warm too cold,

touch too much, or none, still as inbetween breath,
not out nor in - ******
being bound and determined to win the joy
of finishing a thought,
caught while fishing in Gods seasons of forgetfullness,
being empty of care.
Unconcerned with misconstruth,
Let all liars be men, and all truth be true
before men could have imagined
knowing as a flow… that piles up behind
those who admit we did say,

I'll be dammed. That worked.
Like putting pepper in your coffee,
a ripple dam, shape of water near the shore,
same as washboard roads after pneumatic tires
became the most comfortable travel imagined,
before memory foam.

What do you think
of quantum foam or in quantum foam, here on out?
What is the softest thought you have imagined?

DARK CRIMSON

in of itself, the spilled over feelings
-of lives unfulfilled; their willingness
to let innocence fade into, the pavement
on the side walk, or the front steps transom
leading into the light of a door partially opened
it spills, down in to the cracks with
it's dark crimson flow, to seep deep into
the soil whose essence of; becomes part of
the fabric of life itself-in a constant battle
for the daily ebb and flow, no give; only to take
which no one person can name on their own, yet
with blind eyes, we see it all, continuing to unfold
night after night, with a crescendo of anguish
a mother's cry, splitting the night in half- then;  a silent stillness
which bleeds into a red sky dawning, readying us to prepare
for another night of carnage.

By Michael Perry

The curtains hang over widows that have not been opened
for years.

I am scared to raise the yellowed
shade.  Behind the grime of ages the half rolled up crackling
fabric has tales to tell.

Yesterday is gone, tomorrow
may not fall from the transom.
I am aware of this other space
above the dust and mouse
droppings on the sills of
yesterday.

If you ever come here again
you will find the splats where
my tears have spilled.  The
view from the second floor
window is distorted by my
sad eyes.  

I will be near, ever near, to
you here in this place of
memories where once we
swayed to music
from another room.

It was all so long ago when
we were young and dancing
to the sounds of
unrequited love.

Open your eyes.
I am standing by the window
abandoned to the rains.
The streaks of your young
face never fade no matter
the years.

The shade remains in place.
My thoughts steam
on the ***** glass.
My breath never distorts
the singular mission to
redeem the past.

If you return here you will
find me dreaming
alone by the marks
of yesterday.


Caroline Shank