1. |
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It’s about control or lack thereof
A twist of fate
A change
A reversal
The ox turned butcher
The slave turned master
The band turned audience
Cue the doe in headlights eye
Response to roadkill diatribe
Finally I am my own wind, ship, sails, and oar
I will be your target
I will stand here like an idiot with an apple on my head
While you hurl response like some blasphemous arrow
Thus a guilt most crushing
A Sisyphean guilt
A heart hidden beneath the floorboards guilt
William Tell Tale Heart
A post-ejaculation man upstairs watching guilt
Wet potential smeared across your stomach guilt
And it’s entirely your own guilt
Lacking any description worthy
To subsume in just simple words
Is a disservice to the blank sensation of
When the sky has its way with you
And you burn up in the atmosphere
All creation whispers in your ear
“Blessed is the dog defecating on your lawn, grinning”
Inhale, exhale etcetera
Animals eat animals etcetera
Animals fuck animals etcetera
Do I have to spell it out for you?
The words printed in super nova bold:
“I am always riding these rotations around the sun
I am always riding this pretty bow tied on top, so tight as to never come undone”
The same joke twice but the second time louder
An ocean of intellectual people laughing
Sailing idiot waters forever
While advertisements like nooses hang
Covering up Man Proposes, God Disposes
In preparation for a test taken in a play
I’m always writing in my head
And in it your character imagines
Men hung up on meathooks in a butcher’s shop
And eyed by oxen dressed in fur coats and leather hats
Animals eat animals ad infinitum
Cast in a starring role as flesh
While everyone else you know plays motion
Sparred details and generous skips to the good parts
Signed by the sun with a wink and a thumbs up
Dancing lucid in arachnid schemes
With arachnid reputation proceeding
So contrary to a familiar soft
A grasp for sense where there is none
Sense is a spark between us
Sense is a cross armed glance and silent nod between us
Both shackled and accessed by a constant waltz
Of pushing air and wagging tongues
The intimate marriage of sensation and response
An exchange of jargon from one orifice to the next
All my thoughts are “Colorless green ideas sleep furiously.”
All my thoughts, every one
And through this I admire the farce of control
And my total lack of wind, ship, sails, and oar
Every grip sustained on tangible artifact
Is an amusing thought and nothing more
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2. |
Reiterations
06:42
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This song is to ear as candiru is to cock
The bland display elicits beige response
Regurgitated talking points for a like-minded audience
Ad nauseam
Adopt a posture
Imply aggression
The moon still came out tonight
I haven’t changed anything
Candles all go out
Breath abandons lung
The waves still push and pull
Still you haven’t changed anything
The tired lines of us
With ashen foreheads
Remember you are dust
And to dust you shall return
Some cosmic satirist
With space as page and stars as ink
Kills off your character
Still the inspiration drips
Sit in a circle
Naked and eager
We all take turns pretending
We say anything important
Learn to tell the difference
Between white noise and applause
A universal eye roll
And how we all tire of
My masquerading
As an “artist”
The sun cares not for “art”
It will rise and fall regardless
There is no message of the profound
In any top from which I spout
A jargo- cum-monument built with self in mind
Mosaic of erections rise in perfect sync with jurisdiction
Or lack thereof
The influence
A serpent swallowing its tail
An endless loop
There is no old, young, in between
Just flesh in constant state of change
There is no reason for this song
The impetus is blossomed on instinct’s pink, electric soil
History is luxury
A serpent swallowing its tail
An endless loop
After ______ years of eyes shut, stumbling
There’s one thing I’ve come to understand
How bought and sold you are
How bought and sold I am
With bland, adult geometry
The self strung flaccid between two states suspended
Each limb tied onto a different horse
That which once showed me its bed
Now shows me the door
Foul jest in passing
So stop me if you’ve heard this one:
“My thoughts on faux expression
For lack of a more eloquent term
The capital speaks now
In faked orgasm smirk”
Save applause for the end
A circle has none
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3. |
Privilege of Being
05:28
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Here there’s not any plastic now
Past the slightest flick of my brother’s tongue
A snapshot of when the table melts
There’ll be nothing left to prop you up
To the detriment of all living things
It is my vast repertoire of general shortcomings
In the corner here where you hide your eyes
And your face is red
But no longer now
Do I pity you
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4. |
Margin For Error
24:36
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I know nothing, that is the one thing I know
The war is over and you have now ground
Me into a fine dust
An elegant sigh from you now
Spark of the etcetera plus divine
Indebted still, unto your flesh
Empathy blooms
Your moral gymnastics
And lack of concern for all the drama
Embedded between your legs
We will be kept forevermore
Invitations of comfort
Where your tapestries of profanity are now spun
A sin so great the stars themselves fall from the sky
And I can hold it down upon the floor
In a demonstration of my blunt power over you
It’s just a thought don’t be alarmed
You’re still decorated in my deepest affections
Only, my cheeks are clenched oh so tight
Are yours too?
My cheeks are clenched oh so tight
Are yours too?
My cheeks are clenched oh so tight
Now watch tusks curl back to my skull
I know nothing
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5. |
The Commercial Nude
10:54
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My body constitutes my mother’s body
Our flesh on a screen
Decorated in the robes of a commercial mythology
Our postures are a monument realized in marble
I’m the object of interest and I can’t speak
Cause my lips are sewn shut
Reject the sensation
There’s no longer a point in it
Spread my legs wide
Ash will seek ash
My holy host to yours
Stand between the sun and me
All else is peripheral
Upon my knees, your hands across my face
I am where I need to be
In the air, an ambassador of hyperbole
Somehow bends us both into a functional display of love
Now, now
The idiots lay naked
Embracing the commercial nude
All too casual a gesture
Time held stiff within each moment
No matter which direction I walk
I will hit ocean and find an end
That’s my only contribution
To surrender any implication that I have any understanding
All too casual a gesture
And the sun explodes anonymously
And when it does, what would have changed?
All too casual a gesture
All too casually the whole world bends
At a geometry of homage for you
Make horses see scorpions
Make horses see scorpions
Tear all these walls down
What am I now if not my failures?
Press them onto wax
They are yours now
They are yours
In an act of courtesy on your behalf
You place a hand upon me
You place your hand over my eyes
And read the braille of my quivers
And now you have rearranged me as you please
In a bronze posture of confession
And you’ve hung a bruise on the ray of sunshine
That shakes us both awake in the morning
How good it must feel to sit upon that throne
As the rest of us dream of washing your flesh
Somewhere, I know, you are carving my name into a stone
A recording, a ticking time bomb
As I try
I will try
I will try
I will try to forget this
I will try
I am nothing if I am not on my knees
I am nothing if I am not on my knees
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6. |
The Reclining Nude
12:56
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Irony of the situation’s curtains drawn
The audience knows
Proud of all the clever ways I’ve engineered to put you down
A quick glance at your Marilyn thighs
Morse code as they will rub together reads:
“This turn the other cheek approach bitch slaps you beyond repair”
And I don’t see a difference between that and the words that I choose
I’m not sure there’s any realistic difference between that and the words that I choose
And I’m repeating the word idiot to myself
Until it loses its meaning
Yes I am repeating the word idiot to myself
Until it loses its touch
I just like the way it sounds
You better shut your mouth or you’ll wake up the neighbors
Concerns my flesh’s current union with yours
“I love myself,” you’ll say it over and over
Till you run out of air, pass out, start again
The infinite math of the situation
Subtract your apprehensive hips
And divide: “Every time I pray to _______, I keep on killing mosquitos”
All the while I am repeating the word idiot to myself
Until it loses its meaning
This is my Spade Cooley bit
My Ronald Reagan pardon
A cigarette on each nipple
And “I’ve got a feeling this is the first day of the rest of my life”
Idiot!
Idiot!
Idiot!
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7. |
We Think So Ill of You
04:15
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The Lamb as effigy sighs
“I can’t believe it! All my birthdays, thoughts, and ass burnt to ashes! The critique does not exclude me! I’ve become
the anathema!”
Intimately wed to concept over practice
The joke goes over my head but I am still laughing at it
In the interest of impressions
The winking bit of your balancing act
Makes a fool of my wire affairs
They all see my hand in my pants
Point and laugh at idle steers
As if the flies don’t, on us too, land
Flesh is flesh
And you are speaking to me and I am nodding my head
I have so carefully adorned value upon the space between us
Something peeping toms the words
To hang a price tag on our interactions
And you just killed me off in the film that you’re directing
And we both smile and nod as I achieve erection
I survived the initial crash
But was smothered by the airbag
Point and laugh at idle steers
As if the flies don’t, on us too, land
Flesh is flesh
A picture painted in my mind of you reclining nude
With obscured intentions
Set in bronze
Imagine this:
I’m the guest on some obscene talk show
In a cell of moral compromise
The audience is made up of everyone that I have ever met in my entire life
Every sin I’ve ever committed is put up on display by screens hung around the stage
And we watch
The host says “I now present to you an elaborate choreography of failure!”
The audience erupts with seemingly coordinated jets of jargon laughter
Ha Ha Ha!
“Shame on you!”
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8. |
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These first two drafts rejected with a single written critique:
“It is rapturous still, the way you fill a page. I find it to be lacking.”
In clash of celebrity and landfill
My depressing little you-know-what-at-this-point is pointing down
In the phenomenon of event and object and the miracle of their description
It’s still pointing down
I’ll fashion a new monument
Out of my imitation of mammal curves
And set that sun for us
Shame constructed all my morals
While passersby all bid on the Lamb as effigy
Humiliation is the blueprint of my morals
While passersby all bid on the Lamb as effigy
It is rapturous still the way I empty my mouth
Stillborn ideas plus fertile hips
Maternal Lamb belly
All eyes were on her breast reduction rosary
Lamb struts these contractual obligations
With the former vernacular shame embedded
You can’t force a needle
Apple, pear, hourglass
Hourglass, apple, pear
But I’ve got a concept for our nativity
Assume the position
Black lace on a pale ass
And you turn around and smile
We both make it red with ten million spankings
Soft white snow onto which the Lamb is bled
I imagine my conversation with the Lamb to go like this:
“Hello, how have you been?”
“I have been well, and yourself?”
“I’ve been well too. Thank you for coming.”
“What nice weather we are having.”
“I hope you continue to be well.”
“I hope the same for you.”
My conversation with the Lamb went a bit more like this:
“Would you not take me into your divine consideration?”
“_________________________________________________________”
“Would you not be gentle in your examination?”
“_________________________________________________________”
“Would you not have me sing you softly to sleep?”'
I can’t sing if you’re looking at me
*Lamb Sings*
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