The Walkmen - On the Water The dragons head for air, and the part timers follow suit. Flash clubs, three in a row, dig graves with spades. I can't explain how I feel. Sea lions comfort me. It does a thing. Still though, I'm breathing flames. I make calm to my limbs. Simmer some. Let's do this tango. Throwing in some calculated grin. And yes, restless dreams come in episodes, but everyone dies when the sun explodes. Sky goes dark, and, I can only see when I breathe. Sea? Out. Light. Out. Light. Out. Light. Headed in the wrong direction. Not again, Magdalene. You lost the light of the stars. Shut out by fire. And I cannot explain how I feel. And Sea lions comfort me. image:Pikesville
Flames
20 FebDreaming down the Z axis
15 Feb
Orcas – Carrion
Guess it’s that feeling in the night.
Guessing it’s a certain hue.
Rusty memories,
A language of the eyes.
Eyes of flowers, every color of
every sky.
Tapered
in
her
wake.
I
wander
every
hellish dream
silently.
Usually.
image: goto10
Time Four
24 Dec
Marconi Union – Transient
Hush.
Count Count Count Count Count.
Thunder, five miles out.
Keeping rains at bay by
rain repellent blanket fort.
Four.
Miles that is.
In time, everything flies.
And everything fades.
I don’t mind it that way.
Life’s too three.
Breath and sleet’s musical beats.
It’s in the in of all I feel.
Is it turquoise or is it teal
Two much living behind.
Living below is slow. The air
there is not like here.
I’m coughing snow and it’s
all that I hear.
Three.
Guess they don’t all pass overhead.
Guess there are some trees I can’t climb.
Guess we’re not all kids all the time.
Time four.
Hush.
image:dingbat2005
Bodies and minds
11 Dec
Sufjan Stevens – Justice Delivers It’s Death
We’re so temporary, it feels like such a long time.
But it’s quite the contrary.
We’re only here for a handful of songs,
and then we’re pushed out into the night into the cold.
And one day we’re all going to fall apart.
We’re going to break our bodies or
lose our minds and I guess that’s fine
but I’d rather be shot in the head or die asleep in my bed.
I’m living but I ache for life.
I’m sleeping in dreams and
my job is a reel I’ve seen too many times.
When will I wake from this life that I live?
Because some day soon I’m going to come apart.
I’m going to wreck my body and
lose my mind, and I guess that’s fine.
But I’d rather get a clot in the head and die asleep in my bed.
image:Sirja Ellen
Losing the light
3 Dec
Losing the light – Marconi Union
–
We fall from trees with grace.
Wrapping the air around us.
Invisible flares escape,
beauty in the nothing.
–
With skill we harness gravity.
Port de bras, passing branches.
Entrechat to gain velocity.
we learned this ages ago.
–
Slowing to contemplate metaphase.
I watch the steps.
You watch the degage.
And we carry on.
–
Making figures in the crepuscular rays,
We bow
where our coast meets the waves
and we reach the ground.
–
image: Mike Homnick
The Fretted Terrain
25 Oct
I must soon quit the scene – American Analog Set
I recall our foundation. Of course there was red. I painted them in long strokes, uplifted by tectonic knife quakes, striped, a solid evidence of early onset B layer formation. In the middle of a vast body of watercolor. There were people on those and now I see them only in my dreams. Or I in theirs. Dancing.
–
There were two.
–
I. Imagine Monument Valley. Now forty times taller. Forrest Gump is a speck. A bit of dust in your eye.
–
II. The Fretted Terrain. Think of what the mariners saw. Think vikings. It’s like that. Red, falling, crumble. The creator resembling that of a drunk architect, or a spider on LSD. Rickety.
–
A return returns a retinal shock to find the tall stack, the I. toppled and knocked, or moved or all. The water’s gone. Now bone dry, silt deposits, slightly darker, coffee rind topography. All that remains is the crooked tower known as Carroke Point.
image: munir
Horizons Below The Earth and Not Above
12 Oct
Air – Biological
O' underneath the steady growing backlit sawtooth leaves,
A single history hidden beneath. Curators of the heart,
unpack the spark. Set it free. This one's his to solve.
Planting puzzles(from something like the pit of an olive)
Be strong. Be strong for me in the rain. Don't rust, tin man.
He did. He was ferrous enough for the both of us.
The anger. Broke his mind. Splint his old ways but hope
they never return.
See the sum of the parts. The perfect upbringing. Rustic.
image: keighty
I keep them in pockets
8 OctKeeping time by counting pauses in our speech.
Clockwork.
Keep cool cat.
Keep catatonic.
No longer polyphonic.
Semblance of history.
Repeat.
CTL-Z
Repeat.
A mnemonic
coulda come in handy.
Yesterday.
A of a
of a
Now let me put my hands away.
I’m climbing into the corpse of a whale
3 Oct
Lisa Hannigan – Nowhere to Go
She spoke to me of hands,
that afternoon.
And I dipped mine in sands as
we all knew.
She showed me delicacies, in depth
topography.
Perhaps, it was lost on me.
I said,
“I think mine forgot all of these
intricacies,
or they were burned off in my
infancy.”
“Look” she spoke, coaxing smoke to
speak “It wasn’t me.”
“They’re there.” pulling my hands from
sea bones.
Telescope eyes focus, begin and I
atone.
I sky scanned and saw sails that
drew me in.
Wind that need these thin threads,
that bleed.
Knead thoughts, by now she had
the read.
Impede. She cannot know about
image: Unidentified photographer
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