Verse

8 Nov

Major Label Debut (Slow)

I could give it to the gulls most every season.

And I could split my eyes upon the stone.

Some chore to do.

Some thought to atone.

–

Well I’m just here to talk about the day

the autumn leaves had spun you a dress

down by the lake.

Totally weightless.

–

And I’m not fucked up

anymore

And im not fucked up.

–

A lot of times it’s not a certain thing.

And God I hate the way you shook my shoulders.

The demons I sing

have melded with hers.

–

Taste her hair, fumble pants.

Easy to sing the words that I know.

Dancing a dance

to the song that I wrote.

–

And I’m not fucked up

anymore.

Not fucked up.

–

In the end it’s medication I seek.

A quick dose of feeling old feelings.

Sound of the creek,

another form of healing.

–

Unless it’s mistakes I make again.

Then I live them every verse,

in every refrain,

shame and a curse.

–

I’m not fucked up.

Anyways…

Not fucked up.

–

I know it’s the case with every good thing.

The way the down’s just a little bit further.

You know every ring

comes with a burglar.

–

But back to the foliage dancing,

and pretty birds with colorful ribbon.

That’s really everything

I came to speak on.

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Halls

22 Oct

Gangbang Suicide – Kevin Drew

When you first spoke you filled my halls,

Reinforced with madrigal.

I swept, I swooned, I wept, I clawed.

Well you and me, we did it all.

They come to me to take a dime

every pulse past one past mine.

And on my slab my head to toes.

The skillful hands. The hook to nose.

Calming mist, sound of rain,

bottling my strange refrain.

You can see in lined up tinctures

every thought, a blaze of pictures.

Will you see the man I am,

or the man you loved from Bellingham?

Regardless of your choice

forever hear my love my voice.

Minutes spent, our pas de deux,

softer moments, rough ones too.

Counting constellations on your face,

moving in to our first place.

Leaky sink all patter piddle,

our free bed that sunk in the middle.

Our book of love by definition

written by the traits we’re given,

mingling through calls and cues.

Practicing. Scuffing shoes.

Well our tunes they grew with age.

I don’t regret a single page.

When we’re vials behind the glass,

docked the boat, tied the mast,

left behind our chest of gold,

written word, pictures posed.

Blueprint us, not the same.

Just our house, just our frame.

But memories friends recall,

forever speak and fill our halls.

On the day the din falls flat

our frame remains a simple map.

Because in the end that’s who we are.

Some shrouded shapes, lying on a bridge, looking at the stars.

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Pact

1 Oct

If born a bird

I’d flip and flit

and ride the wind

down to water

sun and light, well it’s the fodder

we frolic in and when it’s done

go home and sleep wake up and start another one.

–

And now I’m nine

that show and tell.

I’m heading home

this desperate spell.

I trade it all, I dig the well.

Well freedom’s free when wandering,

but I don’t care I’ve had enough of floundering.

–

And now I’m me

you tell me that

I’m not the sum

of all my past.

Consumed with finding missing mass

I scrape my mind and find a voice,

The answer to the past sub now is choice.

–

If I was a bird

I’d flip and flit

and chart the winds,

distinct contour,

sun and light, well I won’t falter

I frolic in and then decide

to sleep, wake up and head towards my workward ride.

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Motto

8 Sep

Sisyphus – Alcohol

–

Life oh now why am I endlessly

measuring matters with those of an-

other, if waters of fables my

whole life was leading to came just by

closing that delta you’d think I’d have

done that already.

–

Picking my way through the needles on

sidewalks the work walk disrupted by

glance of the past yeah the glance of a

fleeting careening if beautifully

seeming it’s only the feeling that

comes with the ending.

–

Why am I floating the cosmonaut

feeling I crash into ceilings I’m

talking I’m reeling when fighting my

monsters my pilot’s on auto there’s

always more time to design a new

motto. I’m working.

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It ends with a glow

31 Aug

SoF – It Ends

It ends with a glow.

It ends with the half-light of some dumb show.

If all the places pulsed red

where in my life I have laid my head.

Well some would be your house,

and some would be their house,

and some on a train.

Well all of those times I meant to be a pain,

they were the jerk of a knee.

And all of the times I tried to be funny,

It might be the same source,

a similar half bred witless horse.

On the night with the deer,

I’ve made choices and ended here.

Unclear if I like who I am.

I’m a path of the root of the same dumb man.

If every “if” formed and threw

landed on land and grew,

and if asked,

I guess I’d have grafted one or two.

Mantra

24 Aug

East Virginia – yMusic/Tallest Man On Earth

–

Sharp feeling from knowing

I know too little

about too few.

An isolation coming to.

Forensic eyes I always knew.

A sight, a sign I’m wading through.

–

Well I would like to be

every thread of me.

Every possibility.

My woven tapestry

Cauterized. Epoxied.

A futile flesh amalgamy.

–

I’d rather be inside some dark holler

where the sun refused to shine

than to wear some distant

wind warm upon my face

as if it knows the time it tears;

I ponder where it’s born.

–

And as long as we’re lounging in these dreams,

or wading in my tantrums,

I’d read my worn recipe,

remove some bits, clarify some.

Because I don’t see these mantras

etched upon the lids of the man I want to be.

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Untitled 6

11 Jul

Turning off your mind

Autopilot flights

Telling northern lights

Beauty of the lack of sight.

–

And every five

We fight the mind.

We idolize

This idle time.

–

But now how will

We work this dough?

Like sturdy Rearden

Or soft Thoreau?

–

This water scene is seeming keen.

Sunset boughs and pinkened dust.

Abandon warehouse caked with rust.

A dozen metaphors washed upon the softly lapping shore.

But these trees have dependencies.

Conflictions arise.

Migrations arose.

Waist deep in the waterfalls

And spirals we chose.

Bauble

10 Jul

Every day

plucking at

golden thread.

Delicate.

–

Subtle line

from my head.

Life a twine.

Permenant.

–

One bad month,

a no good season

gives my nails

every reason.

–

Picking string

a habit now.

As much so

as breathing out.

–

Tracing each

glass fine line.

Immaculate.

Serpentine.

–

And I guess

this time next year

a full white beard

from ear to ear.

–

All that’s left

is memories

which we take

lives to weave.

Untitled 4

9 Jul

Scrawl

down what you need

you come up short

nameless.

–

Crawl

on your knees

fingers flow in

darkness.

–

I saw

a photograph

where I possessed

kindness

–

I saw

within my hands

a certain knot

timeless.

Untitled 3

3 Jul

And I’m laying in bed

But instead

I could be some drunk fisherman

Screaming the same shit at the ocean

That I did when I was a kid.

–

And in that wake

I take.

I could risk it all

Without much consequence, no pins

To pick and thread.

–

You told me everyone you know will die in your bed.

Funeral forgotten as every ghost erupts from your head.

All my friends have got a different dream

Well mine are taffy pulled in diaries.

–

And I’m living in my head

It said.

I’m the same dumb shit that danced on the sand

Mask donned beneath the celestial teeth

Laughing that the stars don’t know what they see.

–

You told me every way you know to get at me.

The floor of the fruitstand all strewn with seeds.

All my friends have got another dream

Well mine obey respectfully.

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