acraein

Great Day – Four Tet Remix (Madvillain)

                                 What are

                                 thoughts like

                                 before the synapse?                                               the great divide.

                                 many men are left

               behind.

                                       All    lined   up   on   one   node.

                                       Rows, columns, groups of men

                                       all  thoughts  all   thought  out.

                                       Forward,                           march.

                       Oceans, canyons, mountains, all of the

                                        above.

                                                                         Gunfire.

                                               bodies fall strewn visceral drenched dirt or air or water

                                    push on almost there see

see            ahead the encampment flying our flag shredded by the            bullet          breeze

                     home stretch for              cracked windpipes

                                                                           and stained fingers nails

                                                                                      no coffins nailed for the dead on the field

                                                                                                                                                    just gone.

but

Safe on the                

other                           

side, count them all. 

Battles first of many.

                   Many more will          

                                                   fall.                  

                                 What are

                                 thoughts like

                                 before the synapse?                                               the great divide.

                                 many men are left

               behind.

I think that’s how it happened, but there were probably more battles and conflicts, and now that I think about it there was probably a better reason to go where they did. How many of them were there again? Did we lose too many or did we come out of this one relativity unscathed?

I think the war has been over for some time now.

image: -scipio-

Tags: Poems, Poetry

Marconi Union – These European Cities

You don’t know everything about Lisa.
Carefully collected maybe
She dissected the rest of us.
Silent hidden charm just an arm away.
Try to skirt along tripping traps take the wall,
You cant see the girl
Hailey why do you put up with this?
Are your intentions really so clear?
The sharpness in your cheekbone
from another’s whetting stone.
Wedding gowns and neutral tones,
surely you’re more alive?
One day will I be the same way?
Inventing girls who fret and fawn
In my thoughtful din under sauntering moons
Will I build myself a pedestal?
Will I climb up and stab my chest?
Will I fall in puddles, broken and revel in my notoriety?

I want to give you your own breath.

image: Oncle Tom

Tags: Poems, Poetry

Jon Sheffield – Dear Yma

This, the morning of shipwreck,
cut out of trees smeared with wet glue
folded above drifts of orange cream globes,
lighthouse lights and megaphones.
Maple leaf veins take the task of lighting the path
in the absence of the sun.
Below we move,
quiet minds in a quiet mist.
Buildings loom like masts and bully the meek.
They are men telling ghost stories.
They aim to scare, they aim to scare.

Let them be washed away
their crooked eyes and angry bricks.
Be washed away in this shipwreck morning.

image: kayschwag

Tags: Poems, Poetry

Colleen – I’ll Read You A Story

(The video is also incredible)
A silver strand
A single truth
Sharp as glass
Hard as tooth.                             yellow
                                       the        sun
               Yet here it is        in           flowing
                             dancing                 in
                                                   the
                                                summer
                                              air
                                           pecking
                                          grassy
                                           hair
                                            of
                                            trampled
                                                glades.

Setting fire
            to a bear
Sending all of life
                   to Hades
Reckless                    
        Warpath          
                          smoke and
                      the        dark         alone.
                    in           a           stand
          Yet ebbing         glint          to
                              of           meant
                           some          never
                           thing        whole
                              sharp    of
                                   a piece

I stay sitting because I remember who we used to be.
I don't stand up because I know who you are now.
But if you keep pushing I will slowly
                                      tip

                                        off
.
.
                                          the
.
.
.
.
                                          edge.
 image: netzanette

Tags: Poems, Poetry