1. |
To Feel It Pound
01:05
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I hold my heart when thunder claps,
I hold it when the courier raps
Upon my door — to feel the beat
It often hides — it drums so sweet
And then subsides to tender taps.
My heart is shy when only maps
Can dare expound what hungry gaps
Consume the ground between our feet.
I hold my heart
And tear the envelope that wraps
The lifeblood printed on your scraps
And feed my veins like summer heat
Is supped by rains. Until we meet
At last again when storms collapse,
I hold my heart.
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2. |
Little Bough
00:44
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At the soot-shoed ridge where a foot falls south
Rise the brows of a hill,
Flows a fluid mouth,
Which foams as its lips kiss a stalwart crag,
Whose legs now still
And will ever drag
Up the slow glacis where a hillbrow breaks,
Whence the soft soil spills
And a tree bough rakes
At the cold dense clouds and the heavy haze,
Whose brisk bath fills
The barren white days
From the quaking cliffs to the balmy bays.
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3. |
Don't Need the Sun
02:20
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The sand that I’m treading is littered with bone
And not a creature around here could carry a stone
Well the weight that I carry is sharp as a tack
It’s the sun beating down on my back
Don’t need the sun beating down on my back
Sometimes it seems that I’m walking in place
For the sand fills my tracks and leaves nary a trace
Well I’d trace myself back to the very first track
But the sun’s beating down on my back
Don’t need the sun beating down on my back
With a vulture so patiently hanging in space
I swear the last snake I saw had a smile on his face
There’s a lot for to smile when your smile is cracked
Like the sun beating down on your back
Don’t need the sun beating down on my back
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4. |
So Long
00:50
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So long to the petal.
Farewell to the bee.
Let them climb, suck and tremble,
But not under me.
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5. |
The River
03:13
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Learn
That feet may mar Juturna's spring
With trampled dust debris,
But wind will move the tarnished tide to sea;
That though she flies, the cooing dove
Will never know to sing;
That no decree
From up above
Can save our love;
That weakened, we
Can't but a string
In Cupid's crowded quiver
Shove
Know
That I step once into a river
But cannot again,
For waters now were not the waters then,
And I and myself past are different men;
That if you douse the flame of care
I'll greet you with a shiver;
That even when
The stream runs rare
Or flame lacks air
In Neptune's den,
They still deliver
Till there's not a thing
To spare
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6. |
On Sprouting
01:03
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Again the clay, again the seed and womb
And cradle, pregnant by and with herself;
Again the shell: the uterus in bloom;
Again descendant from the leafy shelf.
The seedling, memory in shallow birth,
Sprung only from the tree she will become.
Roots where she bent her elbow from the earth:
The hardy hand that holds the apple's thumb.
Again the root, again the stem and breast
and pram; what loves the tree if not the sprout?
The hand-me-downs again are hemmed and dressed
Again the branches flourish up and out.
The poet, reaching skyward now as then,
Is just a little bough again.
Is just a little bough again, again.
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7. |
Mourning Doves
01:05
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Without the April wind to send their song,
The Mourning Doves of Middlesex are singing
And will be heard never again from long
Away, if graduation bells are ringing.
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impaled peach recommends:
Kind of taps into the non-electronic Radiohead thing. A much more satisfying album than King of Limbs.
go to album
May actually be my pseudonym.
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