3 pieces by: J.C. Hawkes

J.C Hawkes  – is Now in his later years, he is approaching 50 at light speed and he is quiet and reflective and writes pages of poetry daily about his memories. While on the inside he only ever wanted to write books, grow an old man beard and live in the mountains of northern Canada in a log cabin built for one. 

Grow old and die there – this would be fine  – by me.

by: J.C. Hawkes –


A loving Cancer man takes a swig of the whiskey which has befriended him more in recent days. To hide away the love inside the radio tower of this crazy man, which begs to be opened up and squeezed out of his mouth through much more then twirling tongues and warmth to touch. The feeling is assured, but he hides his true love, he tells his own eyes to look away. As to this real love, it is always out of a great distance and so tortured by the island of running streams crafted of golden honey, turtle doves and paper planes. This kind of powerful penetrating wild love is so very hard to reach, but he will no longer settle for anything less. I was not the crimson idol nor the fan of a big red sun, until I was engulfed by It’s mass, then I arrived here.

Where am I?

And then, the most beautiful bird in my front garden who’s name is a scent found only in pages of an affair unwritten. She said she knew where I was. She had discovered me before we ever slept inside the pancakes together, which some other wandering spirit made us for breakfast. If only I ever knew who the white rabbit really told his secrets to on a morning which delayed the event horizon, until the late afternoon. Only WANT needs the juice which fires all engines – this was required right now. She is a golden God revealing the highest ceiling of wondrous wild love. And during the days of rust, with a rock’n’roll lifestyle, hitching a ride through the rattlesnakes and the endurance of bad men – as they were bad men, treating her bad and I wanted so much to kill them in many different indiscreet and fleeting ways, for nothing of this nature can disturb an unmatched vision by any victorious madman yet known in this county.

This dimension of orbital light and sound is so precisely well suited to this kind of magnetic field through which we seek to play freely within. However, She then learnt how to ride out of town solo, on into the arms of madness, where, without tearing herself open too soon she safely departed and ventured into the after now.

So therefore she followed her pulse lines into degrees of separation, where she later knew it would build a great line of credit, a career and a love affair would soon find her. She, will open the can of whiskey with me – as we suggest new ways to bring about time travel and interstellar radio communication. It was all an accidental introduction the whole time and we will drink it in a momentary soft kiss never forgotten, as it has already happened in blue September’s warm embrace and the loneliness of March. But it’s ok it happens that way. And, well as far as free fall poems of synchronisation go, it all fell into my green eyes, which burnt my cheeks, singed my skin like acid rain scraping the remains of a day which must be forgotten – as for the long exposure timelines created out of no memory or misplaced photographs, they were not going to stop the flow of tears turning into years. I would like to visit a quokka now, as to forget the damage caused by the red sun when it penetrated my organs and forced me to stay alive, in this current human shell for a thousand generations more.

It was discovered I was nothing more than an omelette. I may as well be a broken soldier for why isn’t there a decent room with a view and a man to kill! An irrevocable decline into ambiguity so strong and clearly displayed. It is kinda like that which is seen all around us right now, in these times of maddening voices giving false commands.

A fallen breeze kissed my arse cheeks and told my eyes to look away. A subtle kindness created it all out of magazines and newspapers found twirling on the roads which were all bent out of shape following the constant lightning storms building hairline fractures and nosebleeds.

All I remembered was the twirling tongues which scorned our temptation and threw us off track. I and my companion, now only watched on as the corrosive smiles attempted premature ejaculatory convulsions. As no-one is awake. They could all be a problem now – said the Dreamer, seeing us all as awake to the watcher watching it all unfold into an elephant flying by our open window. To die another day was the only way to develop haemorrhage in the shortest time, for the countdown to extinction was about to save our souls and unite our powerful lonely and wild love.

R E D   C U R T A I N

I have replaced my face

with a red curtain


I am hooked in

and willingly I disappear

into arms of


a stockpile of dream

and manifest of circulation.

I found you

at the closing of market street

and we saw each other

once estranged

by emotion

now reunited

by several scenes

describing our



for deliverance.


Away from the noise

and with

– if any,


who are



the norm.

one mysterious figure

– scattered

and an ordered mess

made of black and green hues,

He was suddenly offering

me a house

at any


– an immediate transaction  –

available to relocate instantly.

like clapping to turn on the lights

or a voice command

to change

this song.

The things that creep

into the brain –

This biological space,

The magician


and the neural network

displays distinct potential

but the wires are explosive

and there is no one trained

to fuse the energy created

by its blast.

That is not all there is –

and even those beings

who describe it well,

one might

consider to

get a fact check

or vote in the wrong presidency.

Obsessive governmental orders

by decree

– sent to your depletion

of conscious aware

the imagination is


That is not all there is!

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