1. |
Starfields
03:39
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The falling leaves are starfields.
My car accelerates.
Your bed: a distant planet.
This highway: outer space.
Empty bottles in the backseat:
my shimmering comet tail.
It’s Saturn’s rings I collide
as I spark off the guardrail.
Window down.
The wind, now, is unforgiving cold.
It carries all of your perfumes.
The smell is new.
The particles are old --
Big Bang dust, I’m told.
Are you raising your antenna?
Are you waiting for the “Wow!”?
My whole voice is Doppler-shifting
as I radio it out.
Rear tires are rumbling dust up
like a rover on the moon
that has retired itself to looping
figure eights amongst the craters
and the dunes.
I once worshipped
the expansion of all things
toward their end.
I am now terrified
of being lapped by
wherever things begin
and never catching up to it,
forever snapping every stitch,
like pulling pins out of a hem
lubricated by death wish and gin,
until, collapsing, I give in
to only ever being this --
admit wholeness cannot exist
without you wrapped around my skin,
holding this lack of guts in.
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2. |
Invincible
03:27
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Because I was invincible,
it did not bother me at all
to see the many drenched faces
of my abandoned friendships
approaching me with torches and old rope,
topographies of my throat,
and protest songs.
“Monster, monster, whatchu see?”
I see people watching me
become a thing I never intended to be.
“Monster, monster, whatchu want?”
To be forgiven for a lot
of things I did and things that I did not.
Well, torches can only burn so hot, I know,
and I was so cold words froze
as they fell onto the mob below.
And the rope, the rope, the rope,
I recognized:
it hauled me into shore, one time,
and subsequently tied
my limbs to lips and legs in beds where I
begged to be released, to die,
while salt cracked off of me all night.
“Well, monster, monster, whatchu see?”
I see people watching me
become a thing I never intended to be.
“Monster, monster, whatchu want?”
To be forgiven for a lot
of things I did and things that I did not.
Well, I could hear them chanting
for my confession, penance, or death,
but, because I was invincible,
I roared for them to come get my head.
“Monster, monster, whatchu see?”
I see people watching me
become a thing I never intended to be.
“Monster, monster, whatchu want?”
To be forgiven for a lot
of things I did and things that I did not,
did not, did not, did not, did not, did not, did not.
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3. |
Summer Love
03:16
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Girls look so pretty till you get up close,
and then they don’t.
At least, not most.
Oh, where’d you go,
summer love?
Boys are so smart till you talk to them.
You hear their filament fists
just rattling --
the bulb’s gone dim,
summer love.
Some are hungry, some are thirsty,
some are so about to burst.
The sun above says some of us should go.
Some are lovely. Some are ugly.
Some are really something, buddy.
All are some I’d like to know.
And some are, some are, some are, some are,
some are, some are summer love.
I spent my whole quarter at the nickel arcade,
thinking, that way, we both could play.
Oh, where’d you go,
summer love?
Licking your fingers, watching fireworks
with cherry pie eyes and a grass-stained skirt.
Oh, where’d you go,
summer love?
Soggy boys swim up and they say, “Hey.”
And you say, “Hey.”
And I just play.
Oh, where’d you go,
summer love?
Some are hungry, some are thirsty,
some are so about to burst.
The sun above says some of us should go.
Some are lovely. Some are ugly.
Some are really something, buddy.
All are some I’d like to know.
And some are, some are, some are, some are,
some are, some are summer love.
And some are
nothing we know.
We know nothing,
nothing we know.
We know nothing,
nothing we know.
We know nothing,
nothing we know.
We know nothing,
nothing we know.
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4. |
Nectarine
04:41
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Nectarine, nectarine --
juice dripping down your seams.
For whom are you waiting?
Nectarine, nectarine --
come on, it’s all over your knees.
Let’s go get you clean.
I will love you if I have to.
I will have you if you’d love me to.
I will love you if I have to.
I will have you if you’d love me to.
Nectarine, nectarine --
should I be real or phantomine?
Should I be even witnessing?
Nectarine --
I’ve never seen
such bags beneath young eyes.
What weight are they holding?
I will love you if I have to.
I will have you if you’d love me to.
I will love you if I have to.
I will have you if you’d love me to.
Nectarine, nectarine --
let she who’s never slit
her wrists inside a dream
cast the first stone pit,
uselessly,
into the sea.
I will love you if I have to.
I will have you if you’d love me to.
I will love you if I have to.
I will have you if you’d love me to.
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5. |
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With elegant long tweezers,
she pulls chocolate diamond figures
from beneath her fingernails.
The sun is turning over.
She’s forgotten last night’s lover --
just another boom without a sail.
She plucks a soggy paperback
out of her Givenchy beach bag
and turns it to the dog-eared denouement.
The protagonist is tiring
of some love that is expiring,
but he’s got a job to do, and it’s the law.
A breeze. A squeeze.
A lime coin tossed.
A sip. More lip.
Her legs recross, recross.
Hexagonal sunglasses
hiding winged eyelines and lashes
elongated till they dust against the lens.
The sheriff in her story hangs
his gun belt up and kneels to pray,
“O Lord, don’t make me ride through that again.”
The sun. The fun
she knows she's had.
Low shadows of
the good, the bad.
A sniff. A sip.
She heaves her chest.
A wave. Last page.
The trough. The crest.
The crest.
The crest.
Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah.
Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah.
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6. |
Faustine in the Machine
01:52
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Who's this image you hold onto?
Is she even what she was?
Vibratory imitations' limitations,
the senselessness of touch.
Oh, there's a hundred conversations
to be overheard each night?
Well there’s a thousand ways to watch her
wear her scarf in dual light.
But these all are only codas
and their rhymes are obvious.
When she's saying "we" right through you,
you insist on hearing "us."
Is your diary a record
or a requiem of sorts,
composed of notes and hopes and half-truths
and misremembered quotes?
She was watching every sunset
every night from the west cliffs
(or, from beyond the frond where you crouched,
you hallucinated this).
You can hammer every mirror
till your own hands start to fade --
until the skin is sloughing off them,
till the tides regenerate --
but she'll still be a reflection
of just who you want to see,
and not who you'll ever be with
or who anyone will be.
So go down to the swamplands.
Eat the redead fish until
the radiation sickness cures you,
if anything ever will.
Because there's nothing as fulfilling
as the viewing of the end
when you are certain
it’ll be the beginning again.
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7. |
Dead Sleep Scrolls
02:26
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Dead sleep scrolls.
Buzz. Blue glow.
Knuckle-twitch
nothingness.
Videos.
Looping notes.
Know the moves.
Slow the grooves.
If it’s this or dreaming,
then it’s this over anything.
If it’s this or being,
then it’s this, then it’s this, then it’s this over anything.
Postpone sleep.
Enlarge scene.
Her singing --
you’re tingling.
Axis flip.
One more trip.
Slap rewind
every time.
If it’s this or dreaming,
then it’s this over anything.
If it’s this or being,
then it’s this, then it’s this, then it’s this over anything.
Then it’s this, then it’s this, then it’s this over anything.
Then it’s this, then it’s this, then it’s this over anything.
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8. |
Things I Regret
03:31
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I could always count on you
to tell me all the ways we’re through.
I was a leaf on the lowest branch --
away from ground, but too scared to land.
But I always felt the rain.
You were dust in a sandstorm.
You kept me around to keep you warm.
I burned alive just to make you glass.
Forget the now to forgive the past
and the small things keep me sane.
There are things that I regret,
but, in this case, I feel nothing.
In this case, I feel nothing.
Barking my tree up the wrong door.
There were things we could achieve.
I cut the cord and now I’m flying.
We were just slowly dying.
What’s the use of prolonging it more?
We made gunk from gold and myrrh,
a life built on what you prefer.
Somehow soured my last sweet tooth --
too many sips from that fountain of youth.
And it all still tastes the same.
There are things that I regret,
but, in this case, I feel nothing.
In this case, I feel nothing.
Barking my tree up the wrong door.
There were things we could achieve.
Cut the cord and now I’m flying.
We were just slowly dying.
What’s the use of prolonging it more?
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9. |
Knoxville Boy
03:21
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Knoxville boy, I hate the way you beg.
With limbs all roach-curled,
ain’t it time to accept fate?
The birds aren’t keeping quiet --
I shot them all today.
Knoxville boy, why can’t you just lie to lie, lie to lie, lay to lay?
I was a roofer. I was stomping around in tar
above the houses and the steeple seemed so far.
The only shapes that I could see that were not a blur
were the notes your mouth was making
as it formed a sacred harp.
Who taught you singing? There’s blood in your harmonies,
like there’s blood everywhere as you cry up to me.
But I’m not your god, boy. No mercy can I give
except to promise you: all will rot what lives.
Knoxville boy, I hate the way you beg.
With digits twitching, it is time to take your fate.
Knoxville boy, you could have had my every breath,
but now the only stuff that’s gonna fill your lungs
is dust and death.
You kept my secrets, but you kept them like a kiss,
giving little pecks to every stranger
for the love of lust and risk.
Well, I saw your lips leaving a forehead that I knew,
and trust me, Knoxville boy -- she’ll soon be joining you.
I heard the preacher ploying, “Satan must be real!”
By how your jaw hangs off in terror and awe,
I guess that’s how you feel.
But, don’t you know the preacher leaves a hoofprint, not a heel,
as he’s tiptoeing to bedrooms,
making sure his flock doth kneel?
Knoxville boy, I hate the way you beg.
There’s mud across my knuckles;
tell me that you like the taste.
In heart-shaped patterns, I’ll drag you by the golden hair
till only gold remains of you,
and then I’ll go be nobody’s nobody --
no, no, no, no, no --
nowhere.
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10. |
Palms
02:32
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Turning my palms
toward your hands
is an effortless motion.
Turning, the palms
yearn over the sands
and yaw with aubades of the ocean.
Last night was something
to be sung about,
but who could divine worthy lyrics?
You in my clutches,
wriggling like a mustache,
and both us cloudbusting our spirits.
Be beneath the porte-cochère
at midnight and I will be there.
Day will come and, with it, ships --
including one I mean to miss.
A quarter to four now,
the ti’ punch is poured out.
The hopefulness, boredom, and anxiousness swirling.
And now half past eight,
but the sun is still hanging
too proud in the sky to avoid prying eyes.
Eleven PM. I’ll not be caught dozing.
Soon, my skin will never be
without yours again.
Now the clock’s gonna chime.
My valise at my side.
Is that your shadow creeping toward me with the tide?
Be beneath the porte-cochère
at midnight and I will be there.
Be beneath the porte-cochère
at midnight and I will be there.
Be beneath the porte-cochère
at midnight and I will be there.
Be beneath the porte-cochère
at midnight, be it spring or snare.
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11. |
No Proof
03:34
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Cold was blowing in from somewhere,
warmth was whimpering not to leave,
and the wind was prying secrets
from between the rotting eaves.
The wind was prying secrets
from between the rotting eaves.
You were pouring out the milk jug.
It had spoiled while we slept.
Hibernation has some side effects --
only some will make you retch.
Stay you grateful for the rest, though
stay you wary it’s the last.
Stay you terrified the future’s
carbon smudges of the past.
I stood cleated on the ladder
to repair the season’s harm.
What’s another fifty fucking nails
and another pail of tar?
Another goddamn dripping thing of tar.
You were quiet in a pile of leaves
that gathered to your chin.
I tugged a marionette heartstring
to lift your heavy lids.
To lift, lift, lift, lift, lift your heavy lids.
And the eyes that climbed the rungs to me
were greyer than I’ve seen
even any other winter,
and you slumped like cheap sateen.
Slumping cheap sateen.
Stay you grateful for the rest, though
stay you wary it’s the last.
Stay you terrified the future’s
carbon smudges of the past.
Well, I took my time returning
to the ground from on the roof.
You say I made no effort.
I say you have no proof.
No vision and no proof.
There is always more cold coming.
There is always sleep to need.
There is always milk that’s spoiling
for you to pour on me.
Stay you grateful for the rest, though
stay you wary it’s the last.
Stay you terrified the future’s
carbon smudges of the past.
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12. |
Lead a Horse Away
04:53
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There it was: the canyon I’d imagined all this time,
its walls rising to hush me while my echoes hung like chimes.
The shadows of the chaparral -- impossible in size
as they free-soloed striations to engulf the blistering light.
I knew that you'd be waiting, though you'd never be my bride.
I touched my hip, my holster. My flask was there, alright.
I stole a slaking sip as I surveyed the countryside.
Where exactly, now, to seek you and to rest my leathered hide?
It must have been, now, twenty years since I’d last rode this dirt.
It recognized my boot heel, which left no stone unhurt.
I wondered if the demons I’d dispatched had recomposed,
and was it wind or their invisible teeth gnashing at my clothes?
I knew that I was bleeding, that my guts were twisted up,
but I hoped you would receive me and allow a healing sup.
No one else could press wild licorice into such a salving paste,
nor bring sweetness to ephedra by imbuing her own taste.
Well, if you wish a man to suffer, only leave him on his own --
to his vices and devices, to his desperate undertones.
He will pull toward you forever, never knowing where to go,
every ache another bindle bobbing off his broken bones.
There is nothing he’ll be prouder of than languishing for love
and becoming something heavier than he can rise above.
Is it mercy to tableau with my mirages on the trail?
That men are stronger than their senses is a fetid fairytale.
We are weak by nature, hideous to behold or be held by.
We say we're turning leaves over, but we know we don’t try.
But if all of my worst instincts are what led me to this place,
who am I to deny destiny, albeit equally shitfaced?
Who am I to echo in your canyon, "Hello, hello, hello,"
when it takes you so few words to tell me, "Go?"
Who am I to echo in your canyon, "Hello, hello, hello,"
when it takes you so few words to tell me, "Go?"
Who am I to echo in your canyon, "Hello, hello, hello,"
when it takes you so few words to tell me, "Go?"
Who am I to echo in your canyon, "Hello, hello, hello,"
when it takes you so few words to tell me, "Go?"
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13. |
Away from the Light
03:30
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The drinks are on me.
Or was that the joke?
It’s so good to be lonely
with you folks.
It’s darker inside here
than it is outside,
and that’s where I like it --
away from the light.
I ain't saying we're compañeros
or that we should be.
I'll stay strange to you.
Please stay a stranger to me.
It's darker inside here
than it is outside,
and that's where I like it --
away from the light.
Some 151
is all we need for a glow,
or some lemon extract
for those in the know.
A party’s a party
with me or without,
but since we’re all here now,
how 'bout let’s not head out?
The drinks are on me.
Or was that the joke?
It’s so good to be lonely
with you folks.
It’s darker inside here
than it is outside,
and that’s where I like it --
away from the light.
I ain't saying we're compañeros
or that we should be.
I'll stay strange to you.
Please stay a stranger to me.
It's darker inside here
than it is outside,
and that's where I like it --
away from the light.
Let’s stay till we’ve checked off
five hundred or so
and wait for the next five hundred
so we don’t have to go.
The drinks are on me.
Or was that the joke?
It’s so good to be lonely
with you folks.
It’s darker inside here
than it is outside,
and that’s where I like it --
away from the light.
I ain't saying we're compañeros
or that we should be.
I'll stay strange to you.
Please stay a stranger to me.
It's darker inside here
than it is outside,
and that's where I like it --
away from the light.
Away, away, away from the light.
Away, away, away from the light --
sloshed moths to tribal fires.
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