1. |
Patient Hands
04:39
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I want to know where the summer ends. September came with oceans between words and sleep. September shed its skin of still hush, patient hands. Young men Edmonton bound with young wives Edmonton bound. Head pressed against her chest, bottles grow in the dirt and rest between your ribs still I toss and turn at night in a winter bed while dreamcatchers spun in twine spin above my bed. You've been writing out the past couple hundred years for the middle class about the god you found beneath your sheets, how she never could hold her drink. I won't write a thing for you. And now I see you in the places I don't believe exist and can not face yet, can't accept. Its something like the cold, uncatching words we use to read to one another. October came in dingy scarfs, black shades, gloves under beds with boyhood dreams, a razor blade drug in unsure lines after missing mass again and feeling fine. A rising fear of the afterlife, a growing knot in my spine from slouching towards recluse keep me awake at night. Do you hear a still small voice or catching nothingness when you pray for –––? Head clasped between my knees the night before is pushing through my throat and down onto the floor. While you're somewhere in between the warmth and frigid depth of his mind and heart. November came and I never woke, let me clarify, I tried to wake but voices in my head said stay asleep. Do you hear them too? And now I see you in the places I don't believe exist and can not face yet, can't accept. It’s something like the cold, uncatching words we use to read to one another. We jumped a fence only to find that home wasn't close at all. Our bodies became space-lost-ships like cosmonauts drunk and alone. From here it seems we're doing fine. From here it seems we're never coming home again. I'll be there when you break and when you're crumbling, when you crack, fall apart, don't tell me you're ok. And now I see you in the places I don't believe exist as the winter Earth spins on it's side, hands under gloves cupped under heavy eyes. Its something like the cold, uncatching words we use to read to one another. December came without snow and the acute absence of me and you. And now I see you, now I understand. December became disingenuous the day you were born.
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2. |
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The casual walker-by below our yellow windowpanes must look up through the city lights and feel the same as we wonder why in our beds above the darkening streets "with some sense of shared human secrecy."1 Mostly crazed by thoughts of paint peeling at the seams as the tiles on my shower wall crack at the base. Retracing every anxious line. Reflecting how they fell apart. I never want to come undone or unravel jealous in the wind. I'll say it again. I'm not afraid to die just scared to live alone with you. Drunk in the morning, I woke to Dragon's breath and summer tugging at my sheets to pull me out of bed. Drunk in the night, I swear I saw a raven grow black as your hair, out of your thoughts, into the sky and through the outer holds. One year ago I watched dance across a wedding floor in a bridesmaids dress that fell to pieces at your feet––could you not see? So many thoughts came unsummoned to me then––unuttered on the car ride home before you left for the new world in shades of blue. I woke yesterday to no one lying by my side, just empty pictures frames and broken dresser drawers––where did you go? I've try to hold my hatred in composure but your dress will not stop slipping and your words are ripping through my simple mind. I'll say it again. I'm not afraid to die just scared to live alone with you. We’re more than young-fucked-in-the-morning-sun by some drunker-than-New-Years-Eve-Holy-seraphim-on-Haight-Street coffee shop poetics on love and drugs and War and Peace. I can’t believe what they say to me. I can’t believe what they did to you.
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3. |
La Jetée
03:21
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A man and his youth. You are who you were. Men in white. Whispers in the dark. You are who you were. Moscow in my ear. Whispering fear. Paris burns underground. Paris sleeps. Just underground. So tie me down, send me away from here. When nothing makes sense but stilling memories in your head. Let me go, find a way on our own. But, just wait for me with hair-in-wind, hands-in-teeth, for nothing else. Hey maker, I think I was meant for this. A frozen sun, a woman's face are all I have, are all I need. You were who you were then we met in the silence and peace. You're quiet. Eyes are tame. So tie me down, send me away from here. When nothing makes sense but stilling memories in your head. Let me go, find a way on our own. But, just wait for me with hair-in-wind, hands-in-teeth, for nothing else. I can't save you. You can't save me. Take your peacetime needs let go of me. Take your peacetime hopes and bury them. Take your peacetime love and marry her. Take your peacetime wants and tie me down. Take your peacetime life and reassess. Take your peacetime hopes and swallow hard. Take your peace time thoughts and all of your peacetime memories and don't tell a soul. So tie me down, send me away from here. When nothing makes sense but getting way from here. Let me go, find a way on our own. Get away from here.
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4. |
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Are these my eyes or just wet stones? Is that the swelling of the sea against the shore or has the world reformed from inside-out? Did we climb to high, my dear? Are the cliffs the only place you feel alive? We cut our hands and kissed the wind while skipping stones and shedding skin. We made a god and laid our shaking bodies at her feet then stumbled naked through the door and stumbled out of bed in the morning light but too early to be seen by prophets cursing in the streets and beggars preaching peace in faithful calm and solidarity. We resurrected power lines and let them drip blue-green sparks upon our lips like little kids with snowflakes on the tips of their tongues. We found a pond covered in ice and stoked a flame and called it good before the illuminati buried us alive. But oh my god you've got me now: stuttered heart, empty soul. God damn the way you're moving through my mind, the way your hair outlines the world. God bless the way you touch my thighs to warn me a storm is brewing beneath your ribs, that rain will soon follow. Rain drops upon your fa–– make you no one that I've ever known. I see the rock on which we fell. It's getting bigger everyday we spend away from here but I no longer want to pull it out or walk the roads above just to play it safe, we never really did. There's beauty in a cut, a broken body on a summer cot. Your skinny legs and ruddy skin, like knotted twine are twisted between my limbs. Fall into me. But oh my god you've got me now: stuttered heart, empty soul. God damn the way you're moving through my mind, the way your hair outlines the world. God bless the way you touch my thighs to warn me a storm is brewing beneath your ribs, that rain will soon follow. I've been thinking about letting you know I've been feeling this for some time and just forgot to let you know that the storm from which we hid has been hiding underneath my shirt. I swear it's you, not me. It's so hard for me to be here with you. With all the things that I've been keeping inside and I can't go on pretending that I'm not thinking about leaving you. We watch the sun rise from a knotted hill or field of old machines, I can't recall, but rusted metal spires reached towards the sky like preachers wives' contemplating death in bliss of an angry night. We fell further into each other there, so full of dusk as is the wont of the poorly assembled class, all stone hands and sinewy flesh. So worn from digging up the dead. Line us up. We're shaking free. Paint our sins. We're making waves in forgetful seas.
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