1. |
Laying On Ice
03:39
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Laying on Ice
Trying to feel more than the cold.
I breath in breath out,
It’s the only sound I can hear,
The sound of the world.
A quiet death’s taken the air.
It’s a pale white aloneness
That hovers like smoke.
I breath in breath out,
The breath of the world.
Everything that touches me,
I touch.
All of this life,
All of this pain,
I feel it hurt.
This slow ache of sorrow
In our shared aloneness
Is a changing horizon,
A world’s revelation.
The things that will happen
Will shatter belief.
I’m in the air,
Invading the world,
Trying to make sense
of what I cannot see.
Laying on Ice
Beautifully frail,
Just as is life…
Beautifully frail…
Laying On Ice…
With my face towards the sky,
I keep seeing through blindness,
Seeing how long I’ve been frozen inside.
I breath in breath out
And feel the breath of the world.
There are things that I’ve touched
That I never felt.
Ways that I’m bound
Without being held.
Everything I touch touches me,
All that I’ve loved,
All I’ve destroyed,
All this decay,
All of these deaths,
All of these lives
That I’ll never mourn.
I’m laying on ice
That melts into blood.
I melt into sky,
Same sky as your breath.
I breath in breath out,
The only sound I can hear.
Preserving myself,
Frozen inside,
Laying on ice,
Beautifully frail,
Just as is life.
Beautifully frail…
Laying on Ice…
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2. |
Early Child
03:00
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Early child born in Autumn’s
Extended reign of decay,
A long winter awaits.
You’ll only survive.
This shroud of being smothers you
Hiding the suffering
That speaks from the shapes
That you make.
The endless turn of your face.
Your search for concern,
To be returned where it’s safe.
What have we done
In turning away,
Accepting ourselves?
Have we defaced you?
Unwilling to be replaced by you.
and I’m guilty, too.
I’ve made no offerings
To the instance of you.
This endless autumn,
Skeleton harvest,
Keeps replacing you.
And I’m guilty, too.
Early child,
After you, we hope.
After you, the world will
Be as we hoped.
We are after you.
Early child,
Before you, we lived.
Heads of buzzards,
Red in the feast.
Enjoying the last deaths of Autumn
Before Winter’s stifling freeze.
Early child,
When you came to be,
We were supposed to hear echoes
Of Spring…
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3. |
When I Met You
03:05
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Overlooking the last place
At the end of the road,
I met you.
The world’s of littered flower pedals,
Dead and browned as rusted metal.
Brackish waters soured yellow.
Behind me, just a fading echo…
When I met you,
You were unexpected.
A reminder, I could still be naked.
The world could still have danger.
Death reclaimed its distance,
I could finally feel it coming.
Rebirth is but resistance.
Finally, we were slowly dying.
Squeezed against our bodies,
Breathing in our limits,
Fearing for the moment,
Holding this becoming.
We had just begun.
I offered my deepest sense of mercy,
The kindness I desired giving.
Any gift that I could gather.
Care was blooming in this moment.
The strangest setting for such beauty.
Finally, we were dying.
We could feel it coming.
As it was descending,
I broke from out our silence,
Gratified and frightened.
A final need for comfort.
Eye-to-eye I told you:
“I owe you my life.”
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4. |
The Nobodies
03:05
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Do you have kindness for us,
The unknown?
Stuck in this grey elsewhere
Dreaming of the amber warmth of home.
A place to break open,
To finally unfurl.
To be more than this longing,
This song with no voice,
Seeds with no soil.
Trapped in these bodies
That are feeling so lifeless,
Like no one can feel our desire.
Shut out of language,
We’re totally full.
We, the Nobodies,
The easy effaced.
Broad-brushed in backgrounds
As negative space.
We wish upon,
Oh! we wish…
We, the seen as unseen:
Them without separation in sight.
The known as unknown:
Them without separation of need.
We, the complete.
Behind the horizon, we wait.
Holes in our eyes,
Everything feels the same
Like it’s nothing at all.
There, only in name.
Behind the horizon, we wait…
We move like the tide,
Like the wind,
Like the earth.
We sound like a wisp,
Like a whir,
Like a clang.
Collapsed into each other,
We can’t see our own shapes.
Behind the horizon, we wait…
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5. |
The Middle Of Somewhere
02:43
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In the middle of somewhere
As no one,
Feeling for something.
A garden of yearnings
Surrounds me, abounded.
I’m running out of time to be happy.
It’s just how it feels.
I see but can’t be seen.
What a thing it is to dream…
I’m running out of time to be happy.
It’s just how it feels…
This whole place is in motion
Like a train speeding between stations.
I’m in the wind,
Split into flickering vision.
Trying to keep time
With my broken rhythm.
I’m not free nor suspended.
A brief syncopation,
Trying to escape my inner distinction.
There’s no strain on the reels.
I tighten my muscles.
No one can feel my resistance.
I’m in the wind.
Engines are burning
Leaving only the acrid odor of speed in the air.
I disappear in the collapsed,
Endless-not-there
Of in-between space.
I see but can’t be seen.
What a thing it is to dream…
In the middle of somewhere
As no one feeling for something.
Oh! How I’m wanting.
A garden of yearnings surrounds me,
Abounded,
Fenced and forbidden.
I’m waiting, touchless, just longing.
Feeling for something.
I’m running out of time to be happy.
It’s just how it feels.
I see but can’t be seen.
What a thing it is to dream.
I’m running out of time to be happy.
It’s just how it feels.
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6. |
The Sound Inside
03:04
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These sounds are formless
And morph into song.
I think I’ve heard them before,
God on my tongue.
I was a purpose before
A search had begun.
It was on purpose,
Just to exist.
No reason, but reason.
So that what isn’t just is.
Now my body is made up of song
I don’t know when to sing.
It flows like my breath,
I’m attached to mostly invisible things.
I think of the sounds that just sound,
Without a question,
Just playing the air.
The freedom of flow.
Knowing the unspoken known
That’s always been there.
I think of the sound that’s inside
Preceding even a thought,
A singing unsung.
I’ve heard this before,
God on my tongue.
Someday again, I hope to be only
The sound that just sounds,
The sound inside…
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7. |
Pretty For God
02:51
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He wears colors on colors,
Unfading meshes,
Undying tulip.
Vibrant and bursting
Like light is his making.
Holding his own,
Remaking his body
Walking alone.
Wandering lantern,
He sings with affection
Like he serenades a spirit.
Even shares a kiss with the air.
He shakes his found feathers,
Painted and purposed.
He’s deeply involved.
Colors on colors
He says,
“I’m looking pretty for God.”
I asked,
“Where did you come from?”
He said,
“Just a moment ago.”
Colors on colors
Fabrics like foliage
Growing out of itself.
A peculiar fashion,
He dances and searches,
Flowering patterns.
I’m pulled through his motions
Whether he knows it or not.
Layers on layers,
Yet totally naked.
Allowing himself, even his shame.
Painted and purposed.
He’s deeply involved.
Colors on colors, he says,
“I’m looking pretty for God.”
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8. |
Song Of The Scarecrow
03:01
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I’m a deception,
Illusion,
A shell of pure violence
Just waiting for you.
I’m hollow inside.
It’s how I’m thrown to the world.
Jilted song of the scarecrow,
My purpose is fear.
(Bang! Bang! Another unmanned body claimed)
This field of would-be’s is fruitless,
It’s nothing but dry weeds.
They encircle my body
Like something forgotten,
Haunting the living,
Preserved in a pale meaning.
Joyless and deathless.
Completely inhuman,
Just waiting for you.
Jilted song of the scarecrow,
My purpose is fear.
(Bang! Bang!)
Behind me is Death.
He wears a loose garment of black.
It stirs in the wind.
My arms spread wide,
He stares with sharp Saffire eyes.
They pierce the hard air.
Behind you is Death,
Same garment, same glare.
Your body is armor to safeguard your fear.
Jilted Song of The Scarecrow,
My purpose is fear.
(Bang! Bang!)
I’m here to approach you,
To court your reproach.
You can’t address me.
I’m flesh with no body,
Hollow inside.
I’m so high above you,
I block out the sky.
No, you can’t address me.
A shell of pure violence,
Joyless and deathless.
Completely inhuman,
I can’t be exposed.
Jilted song of the scarecrow,
My purpose is fear.
I’m a deception,
Illusion,
A shell of pure violence,
Just waiting for you.
I’m hollow inside.
It’s how I’m thrown to the world.
(Bang! Bang! Another unmanned body claimed)
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9. |
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It is wonderfully plain,
Life holding life.
The microbial nest,
The floras of birth,
Feeding itself
Only to live.
The animal skin,
Bathing in earth.
Awaiting the varied tendrils
Of touch.
Death could never keep up.
Life holding life,
A passive embrace,
The fauna in folds,
Exceeding itself.
Leaving remains.
All that there is
Will never just be.
And that’s all that there is.
Only to live.
It is wonderfully plain,
Life holding life,
Inciting itself.
Awaiting the varied tendrils
Of touch.
Death could never keep up…
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10. |
The Road
02:39
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When I look at you,
I see an inscription
Etched in your motions like stone.
You’re elsewhere embodied,
Suffering through me,
Like I’m what atones.
You were in action
Claiming your freedom,
Entrusted and shielded
By those that you’ve loved.
Now they are gone,
But you’re still feeling their touch,
All by yourself.
Embodied, beholden,
You’ve fallen behind
Wearing grief like a gown.
But, the body survives
Trying to feel its way home.
You have a right to be well,
A reason to live.
You can’t always comply
To the way you’re inscribed.
Elsewhere embodied,
All by yourself.
You’re on the road
That blackens the sun.
Where tyrants have paved
Where we can go
Over where we come from.
Where the crows find their fill
Flattened yet ripe.
And earth’s set aside
To keep giving more life.
The ways that we wandered before
Now compressed into tar.
The straight and the narrow
Trying to define who we are.
You’re on the road,
Elsewhere embodied,
All by yourself.
When you speak you unravel
Like a tight spool of thread.
I feel what you mean
Beyond what is said.
It’s etched in your motions like stone.
You’re elsewhere embodied,
Suffering through me
Like I’m what atones.
You’re on the road…
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11. |
What Kind Of Life
03:30
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What kind of life is this?
To even wonder of your worth,
Your cost to stay alive.
Some reach without a touch,
Merely brushing by.
Like leaves on broken branches,
Merely brushing by.
Somewhere East of Other
Looking from receding eyes.
What kind of life is this?
What’s the equation
For its cost?
Better to be a number
Than trapped in an unthought.
Some of us are counted,
Some are simply, not.
Some are in a blaring light.
A jarring, blinding, biting bright.
A blazing, burning, phosphor white.
Too light to feel the dullest dark
Of a sunken damaged life.
And some are dimly lit,
A harvest of debasement.
Shadows packed in plastic.
Molded, masked, and mended.
Their light of life is rendered.
You can only see yourself in
Somebody else’s light.
You can only shine against,
Somebody else’s light.
You can only see the world
In somebody else’s light.
Somebody East of Other,
Trying to find the number of their life.
What kind of life is this?
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12. |
I Stay Quiet
02:59
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I stay quiet like the pines in the forest,
Behind a hazy fortress of grey.
Cold and secluded,
Perfectly silent, fading away.
I stay quiet…
I hide between the already hidden,
Where peach is suspicious to spies.
A haunting that’s always awaiting.
A creek in the silence of time.
When the terror finally breaks,
Invading the world,
I’ll stay behind,
Rooted where I always have grown.
When you see me,
You’ll see distance itself.
Remoteness, drifting in place,
Hovering over myself.
Behind me is grey desolation.
It hangs like a web
With threads stitched to the clouds.
I’m cold and secluded,
Perfectly silent.
I’ll stay quiet.
The whole damn world’s an eruption.
A heat seeking explosive
Upending itself.
A heat seeking implosive
Destroying itself.
A heat seeking corrosive
Eating itself.
So, I am running cold…
There is a beauty in comfort,
A wholeness
Behind the penumbra.
The being that dies,
Sweet as a silence
Outside of the light
Where everything runs cold.
And I am running cold.
You won’t see me again,
I’ve come to die
As I’m fully awake,
Effacing myself.
Quiet as hemlocks
In the deepest of woods.
Away from myself,
Without desire,
I’m distance itself.
Cold and secluded.
Perfectly silent,
I will stay quiet.
The whole damn world’s an eruption.
A heat seeking explosive
Upending itself.
A heat seeking implosive
Destroying itself.
A heat seeking corrosive
Eating itself.
So, I’m running, cold.
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