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1. |
Valium
08:26
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The boys’ tired hands fight to knot their first ever ties.
Their mother walks out to borrow a car,
blue envelope scrawl to reach the airport.
As she drives, she pulls in her cigarette smoke,
half-sings a radio song and pops her gum.
The boys don’t speak but watch her half-sing
a radio song as she pops her beautiful, beautiful gum.
Oh the hurry and search for departure gates
and the quiet flush of her bare legs and the taste
of the sickness deep in the stomach and on the tongue
until she kneels, herself in a panic, in the rush of others.
She stabs at her purse to find them a gift: broken, half each, no water.
They swallow and they calm and soon are buckled in.
Then she’s gone and their bodies become perfect,
their bodies become perfect.
A river begins at the feet, the soil darkens, fruit trees,
a glimpse of the root, it gives the body to twist and to tease.
The plane shudders up and the whole self rises.
The plane shudders up and the whole self rises.
This must be what was meant: Jesus pulled into the bright sky
by his father. Dead to the world, stomach empty, He must have
reached out to his brother. He must have loved this
lovely young tremor, angry young tremor.
It all begins when she is gone. Broken, the whole self rises.
It all begins and sticks in the throat like hard, stupid candy.
It all begins when she is gone, and sticks in the throat like hard,
stupid candy.
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2. |
Distance Is Everywhere
06:04
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Geometry breaks down in her tired body reach.
She says with a faraway mouth, I’ll see you at Easy Beach.
We’ll walk into the sea until we are who we want to be.
Slumped lovely to the floor, distance is constant and sweet’s the reach.
Mouthing secrets ‘til we’re sore and we can swim at Easy Beach.
Soaked by an overnight storm, there’s no trouble keeping warm
because the reaching is bright, bright gold.
The tide of dreams will pull us deep, we search our mouths
for coins to keep, like the reaching, they’re bright, bright gold.
Oh, our hearts are dented in like tin,
and city sirens always win, but the reaching never gets old.
Oh, who cares if we are scorned, there’s a brilliant chaos born
of the reaching. Oh, in love we’ve come undone
we worship the shadow, we worship the sun,
and the reaching can have all it can take.
Oh, in love we come undone we get to swim instead of run,
we get to swim, for chrissakes.
The shoreline of the body is unlit gold.
Distance is everywhere and sweet’s the reach.
so let's meet at Easy Beach.
Distance is constant, and so's the reach,
so let' swim at Easy Beach,
we will swim at Easy Beach.
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3. |
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We are nothing, made mostly of space
and we can’t go home without getting sick.
But you’ve made Manhattans and worn the polka dots
and they look like atoms.
There are chairs in the yard and there’s moss on the brick
and I can barely talk to anyone anymore
without shifting my eyes away and thinking they’re just atoms.
Soon you will ask me to go kindly away,
removed from the rituals and the intimates.
I’m slow and disappoint and we threaten any sense of meaning.
The light at the edge of the storm is the best we’re going to get.
The light at the edge of your throat is the best that we’re going to get.
The light from the flesh of the page is the best that we’re going to get.
The light from the uncaring subway car is the best that we’ll get.
The light from the edge of the glass is the best that we’re going to get.
The light from the leaves in the mud is the best that we’re going to get.
The light from the edge of your teeth is the best that we’re going to get.
The light off the edge of the Washington bridge is the best that we’ll get.
The light from the knowing of light it’s the knowing of light.
The light from the horrible truth is the best that we’re going to get.
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4. |
Motherless Not Suicides
05:47
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Those supposed to love you, they really don’t have to.
Hearts like motel rooms, towels nailed over windows.
Afraid of the spell their sad lives have cast.
Unable to see you, they’re just humping the past.
A plastic bag for her clothes, one of books on the subway.
She had to flee the sun and the dumb god of men.
The city is just mean enough to trust
and bright at the edges where it’s gone to rust.
We’ve buried stones in the plants and committed to elsewhere.
Tend the shame of your dark dreams to know what to leave.
The abyss of the sea gave birth to thee,
and it cares nothing for thee.
We’re not suicides, but the drinks goes dry, no matter what we try.
We’re not suicides, but they’ve killed the countryside, and we’re stuck inside.
We’re not suicides, but they love to lie, so we invent new ways to hide.
We’re not suicides, but contempt is high, when life has been denied.
I am lucky my fate is small. There is no city waiting, no gods I must invent.
I am lucky my fate is small. There is no woman waiting.
We are motherless, hard-pressed, we mean what we say.
And we will love, love, love, love, love but we cannot play.
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5. |
The Seventh Piercing
05:20
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She’s lemon trees in the dark. She’s one more drink in the park.
A shimmering dark feather fallen to summer grass.
She’s shadowy light from the past.
Some stones you keep, she said, some stones you throw.
Hold this one close, she said, I have to go.
She wears a seventh piercing just for me.
She left a rainstorm just for me.
She sends dreams about the deep sea and a blue-black dress.
And I can live on that, more or less. After I’m with her
blue whales call to me; a sweet concussion from the infinite sea
and the echoes of boyhood horror are there and then they’re gone.
She sends red magic in the mail. Speaks with coyotes on the trail.
A plate of oranges with her mescal provides all the light.
Waiting to sleep she feels like a star-choked sky,
the body knows everything it has tried to feel desired
and lit and safe enough to let it go to hell.
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6. |
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Their eyes betray them when they say it’s all ok,
and everything happens for a reason. Christ, the spit flying
out of them they mistake for stars or jokes or something witty,
but it’s just panic. And you know, nonsense makes it
impossible to kiss the way that we should kiss.
But beneath a giant pine, your hands and mouth bright secrets,
there are beautiful things to say, there are beautiful things to drink,
and we will make our own rituals.
Without you morning shows with screams from the street below
that I recognize. And I’m sorry that I care, about some more than others.
All that’s happened to the body, has happened to the mind.
The man angry at cars, fair enough, Sir. The woman hateful
of her own face, come with us Queen.
I’ve forgotten again to eat. And you’re brilliant but not free
from those too weak to see you. And they like you small,
so you should call. We won’t mention kissing, except what happens
with light and rain, except the ways of the mind in pain,
and we’ll talk our way into our own rituals.
It’s the daybreak choir of what’s been done.
Nonsense is an easy sell. And it’s darkness all inside the bell
But imagine not kissing well. Imagine not kissing well.
Imagine not kissing.
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ever/never records New York, New York
'Hiding In Plain Sight' since 2013
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