...fragment of the forest...

...
(folio continues)

See the breeze through the trees
That sweetly sings with voices vast
Yet hidden, as only holy things are
Hidden, and must be hunted
By the whole man.

(folio cuts off)
...

-Jon Vowell (c) 2009

...fragment of the madman...

...
(folio continues)

So leave us our pillars,
The concrete covens of the new witchcraft.
We recount with joy the list of our spells:

The asinine acumen of mindless minutia
  in the halls of theory and query, halls
  hollow and sick like a diseased bone,
  vomiting academic pus onto the dirt.

The clothed cubicle, riddled with red
  thumbtacks like drops of blood
  splattered across the dull gray,
  companion to the endless clocks
  nailed to the woody office walls.

The inciting smells of sewage and sin
  rising from the cracks crawling
  on Bourbon Street. Myriads of
  mothers and men (insanity
  feigning sobriety) all cast
  their children down and
  drown them in the filth.

Leave us, then, oh God,
To our cups running over
With madness and the machine.

(folio cuts off)
...

-Jon Vowell (c) 2009

...fragment of a voice...

...
(folio continues)

I am a voice
With no story to tell.
My muse is dead; my pages blank
Like my head and my face.

(folio cuts off)
...

-Jon Vowell (c) 2009

...fragment of the discouraged ...

...
(folio continues)

Against the bleak backdrop
I sense the insurmountable height looming near.
How can we be heroes when cowards command,
Making virtues out of vice?

How can we speak the enchantment
When the noise of the enemy is the vast voices
Swallowing our words like the grave?

(folio cuts off)
...

-Jon Vowell (c) 2009

...fragment of the Divine...

...
(folio continues)

I am the culmination and execution
Of all perfection. The logos -longing
That's been haunting the habitats
Of humanity.

The cracked mirror has not splintered
My light, neither is the madman's sick sponge
An end to my ocean nor a hazard to
My horizon.

I am the Constitution of all subjectivity,
And the harmony of my fullness fills up
The ever-expanding escape velocity that
Outlines ontos.

The many facets and faces of the mind's
Latent content are but a jewel, one of many,
On the crown of my head; each soul
Is but a spark shed from my
Infinite flame.

(folio cuts off)
...

-Jon Vowell (c) 2009