1. |
Death Waits II
04:11
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I remain — your patient servant, ever ready to oblige, with a grizzly turn of fate, to yield some slow or fast demise, whether by natural cause or by mischief — Your wish is mine
(Every blossom on the bush)
I confess — to some annoyance, that in obscurity you hide, fear you not I will defend you, when the critics swoop and chide, for they do not know as I do that you will rise
Every blossom on the bush, adjusts its tumbled head, as we pass by
Flurried signals in the dust, as we pass by
Don’t stir again your yellow eye toward the morning’s crest
like loaded gun — your work is done; ‘tis better now to rest
So at last — we ride together — just we two and what will come, slowly past the scampering children — their lessons scarcely done
toward the sweeping house with mound for cornice, bound for Eternity, not for Tunis
The centuries to while away, as if there passed instead — but another day
Every blossom on the bush, adjusts its tumbled head, as we pass by
Flurried signals from the dust, disturb the morning’s breath, as we pass by
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2. |
A Poor Aunt
05:29
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I’ve never been much of a writer, the way you or she would have me be
But where we venture when the dream begins, I will take you on that journey
To the land beyond where maps are made, to where thoughts remain unspoken
In the depths of wells that now run dry, we will wait together broken
You don’t have a poor aunt
Give me something I don’t understand, and I’ll gladly dive in blindly
passing through the wall’s illusion, to turn my will upon you kindly
In the peace where only death resides, once again I see you smiling
You don’t have a poor aunt of your own
So who’s this on my back, I don’t know
Will you leave your skin so easily?
Will you let it fall about you?
Fainter than the smallest sound that from the throat emerges
solid as the sway of time, now in the air suspended
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3. |
My First Goose
04:26
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Such is the lure of the regular army, the sinuous swell and no questioning why
you would duck from your ivory tower
For people, for country, for love of the word; for life, for Yevgeny, for lines never heard; for orders of death cast off with a flourish, a switch in his hand & the sweet smell of flowers
As Lenin spoke of woe and want, my heart it grated and overflowed
The Cossacks sat shaving, the sun bled away. The goose pecked so sternly, the words wouldn’t stay. Her neck like your waist and her feathers like leather
The Cossacks sat stock as I picked up the sword. I muttered a curse and stepped into the yard. I held the goose firm ‘neath the heel of my boot. Its wings moved above as its head cracked and spilled
As Lenin spoke of woe and want, I reveled in his secret turn
In my dreams I saw women, but my heart it grated and overflowed
We lived for truth and for beauty, we lived for love of the word. I lived my lies for Yevegny, for a bed in the dirt. I got close to his stench, close to his fire. I drank from his cup, now I’ll quietly expire
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4. |
No Maggot Lonely
04:22
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now you see me, now you don’t now you’ll love me, now you won’t
indifferent past the time to vote and that’s alright with me
in the absence, things I think hear them wither, watch them stink
wordless as they blink and blink no lonely maggot me
drew all his muster up, buttoned to the gore
in my mother’s lung I lie patient as I am
hemmed & nascent, brother’s by sister’s in her pram
fair, fair dissembler, carrot for your jaw (no maggot lonely)
you have cut me, you have skewered me through
you have, you have you
(he had only one flaw, it was hard work getting him to say anything)
never enter, never leave burrowed deep, bereft of seed
left within what can’t impede one gone and one to be
what nibbles now, you’ve gone then and me
never, never will I (no maggot lonely)
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5. |
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Oh, Sylvie you’ll be brave, like the bees that buzz about
at work and in their cave, though their stings will gut them out
I didn’t want to leave you, or not as quick as that
but you shouldn’t cling so tightly to the laces of your lack
Save a little Sylvie; you’re not the only one
the drones must have their pollen as the clover needs the sun
Have you paid the gasbill Sylvie; it only seems you should
it’s seeping through the floorboards to Herr Thomas who’s waking up
(Look you’ve made the poor man cough)
Save a little Sylvie; don’t do what I’ve done
The hive must have its queen just as the homeland needs its son
what I liked about the bees was what i liked about you
they’re always buzzing, glorious sound of fate and wisdom too
Save a little Sylvie; don’t do what I’ve done
mistaking diabetes for a cancer on the lung
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6. |
A New State of Men
04:30
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The word came first, the tongue refused it; the pain of silence then unloosed it
the hiss of rain, the shovel’s dreary clip; a car pulled over in the nearest ditch
I write and pennies rattle in the cup; a word set up against its neighbor’s stub
the ashes bloom, the cattle calve the hill; that linen bloodied from the local mill
A new state of men, falls from his pen
Two clocks they tick, the one I sit and watch; the brass endeavor of the rise and drop
the glaze of time, the crack, the simple rush; no gaudy scars, his temple bears the poppy’s blush
A new state of men, falls from this pen
The blackbird patient waits so don’t you grieve
you’ll see him in the ivy when I leave
The word comes last, no tongue to speak it; all measure swept, all pain rescinded
her measling shins caressed with the goose’s quill; all white and thick beneath the cotton frill
for every year a foot for every year; the four foot box, a cot, it would appear
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7. |
Beatrice
04:09
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I’m halfway through my life, no light for me ahead
no fight left in my heart, no love to warm my bed
A darkness holds me fast, cast out from all I knew
a babel in my head, and a thousand thoughts of you
I’m here now take my hand, I’ll show you all that dies
I’ll show you all that lives, that burns for you inside
The truth with wounded wing, lies trembling in the sun
she struggles now to rise, her fears and mine are one
I’m here now take my hand, I’ll show you all that dies
I’ll show you all that lives, that burns for you inside
And though we never kissed in this world, I confess
this life have I endured that I might possess you in the next
Oh beatrice I loved you before we even spoke
I carried you apart, I held to you alone
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8. |
Points In Time
04:53
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Don’t let my letter get you down; I only left it out to make you frown
Come and look at the harbor, there’s a boat for you, setting sail and who knows where
it’ll take you to
Lucretius tells us that the earth’s to blame, so we rise above her baked in clay
Deep beneath us something old and true; follow now, ‘cause it bore me and you
And when the snow comes, I will ride
What can she take from you that still remains, no curtains even at your windowpane
Take a look at the harbor, the endless trade, you lost what I gained, not a fair exchange
And when the snow comes, I will ride
through all the points in time
See the darkness beneath; behold the fragile foundation; the unreal made real
Take a look in the mirror, there’s a face for you. I will join you one day; it will be me and you
And when the snow comes, I will ride, see me fly
through all the points in time. I will fly
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9. |
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Lucia is falling, as you are diving
And the cure for neither is a day in hiding
I am a servant to your verse; I am a cipher for your curse
And into the night, in search on search, along the riverrun
from swerve of shore to bend of bay, under the veil of words
I am a young man, a diagnosis
I leave a morsel to lives devoted
A breach for your voice, full in force; a flood expectant to leave you hoarse
And into the night, in search on search, along the riverrun
from swerve of shore to bend of bay, under the veil of words
never to reach him, never to speak him, alone, at last, unloved
Untethered the universe drifts, like a pond that ripples till flat
each ampulet’s epithet sighing, alone and unloved in Northampt’
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10. |
Existentialist Nostalgia
05:33
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I walk along the Seine, at night, listening for my name
This may be the call, that precedes the fall
Used to be that nothing mattered, life was just a game
I held all the cards, right from the start
Existentialist nostalgia; how easy it was
Rats are dying in the alleyways. I think I know who’s next
It all comes down to this, relinquish or resist
Sometimes I have
Existentialist nostalgia; how easy it was to ignore the paradox of pain
Free again, she will be free again, cut loose from her mooring
with gentle indifference, no longer my concern
I wait in silence at the dawn; a stranger to myself
No one can absolve our guilt; it is the rock on which we’re built
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Art Schop Brooklyn, New York
Contemporary rock that's "a mixture of Murder Ballads, Songs from a Room, and Hunky Dory."
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