discography & words
meanwhile.
so quickly, we go from meticulous choosing of lines to pairing our mood with wine. and maybe it’s a matter of opinion, but i never felt like pushing myself on anyone else. i’m bored with the trouble of watching trouble creating trouble.
robin.
when robin speaks, it’s spoken because robin knows her own strength. what robin has, she will keep. robin knew she had me. robin knows when you’re watching. and robin knows when you’re okay. but you don’t know what you’re watching when you look her in the face. we can learn from this.
one palm sunday.
as it now seems, we find the time so easily. we float, we sink, we see. the shoulders bow from peace of mind, a mind half-full. so drink till it’s me, and i’ll try and find new things to be. then fail to see the idle tithe, the vibrating. and as it shall be, no kiss goodbye. it’s what you tow in mind, less and less meaningful.
roux.
poised to break, candid and reckless. you see what’s made, deconstructed and built on ash. i know you’re right, i’m not fine. wash it out, cut and dried great times. the clock strikes one last time, strikes too late. i know you’re fine, i’m not right.
shame on nameless.
even at the will of chance, hardly bearing to stand witness to the work of two hands. if only for half the wind of prior lust, the drift could catch and carry us.
engage, pall.
with no crowd left to murder, your work here is done, done. you’re pushing even further. you push until it’s gone on long past a longing for hold. you cut the breaks in two, now the break has caught you.
canned heat [something new].
hands full of vices, no look on your face. wondering how you came to speak this way. filling restless pockets with even more proof. through tired seasons, no one broke moves. with only one wish to give, i’m giving in. so cool it down now, down where we can kick around more, down for the sake of killing time. i’ve given mine.
seeds [something buried].
if it all hits at once, what’s left between? back on one for the meantime. hands to their sides, bracing fore. another lull, another load. can you not see it?
pulitzer.
to know to wait, it’s worth its weight. it’s worth the fire; the hope in writing. a point to make amends, a man, from sleight of hand. catering convenience finds less worth believing. with means worth meeting, convenience won’t mind until we let it fray the lines
all the allotropies.
are we deaf ears? are we secure? are we sacred, or just scared? part says to let it go. part says to each their own. part seems to always know when to call it a night. all considered, it still finds growth. all considered, it still breeds hope. through peaks and the throws, it starts to show.. the lingering doubt still making its rounds from the corner of the mouth.
faith hill.
i am hamlet, and everyone dies. make wholly dues, pay holy dues. to the series of niches from where we rest easy, easy and dumb. arms around jupiter, feet nailed right here. ran the gamut, all is simple, all aligned. through hold and stare, so quick to scare. emboldened factories play keep for the ware, and guards won’t soon speak from just anywhere.
to volstead.
content to attend to the unknowns, the corners attempt to fold. a heavy beside the cheek bone of every one of them in the know. and we know.. pretend to commend all in the know, a sealed approval for the the fold. and heavies on every last table deceptive to increase the glow. and they know.. if you can’t find my eyes, you can’t care now.
the opening salvo.
can’t wait for them days, for the berating, for the serenade, for the floor to yield and break. hope grows old in short time, so petition for anything, here or there, more likely signing pleas for disaster. the same old resolution of familiar revolutions. shake until my heart’s content. tipping bottles, staring into blue. we share red, but not so much gold. less circular, each cycle, each wrong turn. but we share red.
beau monde.
to sit and list the reasons why would make waste of both of our times. we toe the lines, but towing lines split and crack and wait with time. so defeatist, defeat us. so reload the abacus. i’ll sleep when you’re out of town.
orion.
we’ll make our own holidays to celebrate just to find and justify these miles. the glasses on the night stand, filled and emptied twice. from one bell, one rail to another, we’ll buckle when we find each other. i’ll speak in code for as long as i can, won’t soon forget doors to be had. golden. so much for the book. so much for the magazines. so much for the looks i’ve been pocketing.
piton *THIS SONG WAS NEVER RECORDED*
can’t keep feet, teeth, but in good company. good posture for the meek in passing, impasse. they wouldn’t do as their fathers had done, true students of the sport. but good prey knows better to overstate, as well good prey knows when the hunt has been escaped. “tell them what you fear, and they’ll tell you what has happened to you.”
roughhousing.
all the care supports to rust, all aware, reduced to luck. and how right was he to sing even rats will find order? the guilt will paralyze the doubt, should we fail to fall in order. try to take it slow. subtleties slip so gracefully, detract from, untracked and dancing neatly, jab for jab, loose cannons on beam’s ends.
humoring
don’t worry, don’t hurry. there are worse things. no sultry sorry seems to spoil the valor of disperity shaking hands and forgetting names. don’t worry, keep entertained. don’t force the gift horse. know safe, know safety, well and good and entertained. fake names and forgotten face.
hailing distance.
play it safe, play it smart. play for keeps, the points between the flora and the fauna, the vapor, the velour, complaints and compliance, the waning and the wine. the hollywood and vine.
“RITUAL” SPLIT 12” W/CHARLES THE OSPREY
tipper.
having the worst in weeks, set with the feeling of only knowing the half of it. something the worse can keep stuck with the labeled hope, the hope that it’s wrong. so careful from now on, new uses to be found. excuses to be gone, but careful from now on. spinning tops, impatient waiting. bottoms out, goes without saying. saying, it goes, saying, it comes, slightly bruised, punch drunk.
scimitar kids.
ode to all the bickering, ruiners, helpers all the same. what will our children think? what will some peoples’ kids believe?
per se [as Beaches].
thanks for the words. keep score and turn, your focus into sand, your hand. whispers above the wreckages beneath your ocean floors. we can right this ship. all pure, all sure to clear the air. all aboard, all aboard, ship champion. all bored, all bored, ship champion.
seize.
will they ever regret it—the canon, the rhetoric? weaker than weakened and dying to tell you they’re dying. fearless young guards spilling tentative tribute, and only the birds dare speak of their well hidden messes, with dead hand and glance, the rest. the rest. they’re nothing if not resilient. it’s nothing-nothing. try to take it slow.
hale & hearty.
move over, inch closer. i hope you fall right into place. a hand, holding. delicate, to put it kindly. as planned, if only, if only. allusive, in spite of a want of, the means. we convene. weak and mean. you’re weak and mean.
murderer [LOW].
one more thing before i go. one more thing i’ll ask you lord. you may need a murderer, someone to do your dirty work. don’t act so innocent. i’ve seen you pound your fist into the earth, and i’ve read your book. it seems that you could use another fool. well, i’m cruel, and i look right through. you must have more important things to do, so if you need a murderer, someone to do your dirty work.
weak trees.
it should be electric, not some same old cold. lo and behold, milquetoast. so delusional together, so perfect, so far. when self preservation takes over the stars. like patchwork to hide multitudes of sins, angles and attitude. sympathy aside, the frozen grins, it’s absence we need through. and you can’t always find the take where it lies. the truth, in time, it tries to be kind.
chardonnay.
for all the trouble you’ve been through, and all the trouble you still tie yourself to.. and to the farthest your ideas grow, but even the slightest decisions so slow. with bowed anchors neatly seeking their worth. things will liven right up, when you calm down. thread the needle, insidious, straight through, straight to the finish.
greater than.
it’ll all come around, sister. another unhinged, another phoned in. taking over, taking on… it’ll all come around, sister.
escarole.
they can’t keep themselves away. one of the dangers of non-fiction, i’m told. but little did they know—so little we know. still can’t keep themselves away. and still can’t explain, yet those other plains, all so well laid out, all so well planned on. you know you understand. you’ll walk right on past. could never now comprehend the desert, the unplanned.
windswept.
walk straight, walk on, until walked on. partial to blame, imparted shame. an accident waiting to happen, an accident practiced. agitated waiting, agitated all the same. and so it goes, so throw corpse pose and hope to slow, too slow to grow. strange creatures we are, even to ourselves. vastly overrated, strange creatures, we all.
broderick.
hurt people hurt people, but life is just a picnic with you. tried and tested and true, not for nothing, nothing at all. the past, at worst, is worth at least a laugh before the disbelief. it’s in the angles you wear, the energy spent not to care, the desperation, the herringbone. may as well get comfortable. if that’s all she wrote, all bets are off. the past, at worst, is worth at least a laugh first, weakening.
hinges.
lately making habit of letting the mind slip. you’d think you’d eventually tire of making plans. woven, unwound, of the same thread and label. you leap, they bound, bleed out. no poise, no patience, the hinges swing, rust, break. hold on tight, hole the line. hold tight.
chagrin.
a belle, out of blue thin air, beautiful all by itself the calm to keep things easy, just mathematics, just poetry. bursting at the seams. tomorrow will be about tomorrow, days in, nights out. consider the envelope pushed. it can always get colder.
angola.
to mind, to tend the riches. to mend and find plum, in awe. missile strands the outline, finessing paths to the outside. always with the problem sets, never to dwell. but dwelling in just wondering what time will show and tell. but should we choose to stay inside too long, i’ll write. you never write. you’re never right.
litany.
when expectation expires, which developments should you accept? trust number one, but i’ve been handing out the benefit of doubt. and i burn, and i burn, and i burn for it. merely, mirroring, merrily. where expectation goes to die.
haute.
tell me just how rare, just how, dear. but be sure to shout, to make things good and clear. how timely, how timeless, acclimated laborious. now everyone’s just talking to themselves, speaking for everyone else. show me what’s left. teach me the rest. begin to second guess the second guesses to death.
almost.
admit it, you’ve given up. admittedly, I’m giving in. so brave, your shaking, an eloquent dissent. so on to what’s next, like any other week passed. i hope, for the sake of honesty, you think of me, naturally and resold, as if you’d known. you’d know.
olmstead.
you can never expect memory to serve so diligently, those things that can’t serve themselves, or anybody. a little less ubiquitous, a little more to even score. glad to have came. glad to have seen. glad to have heard the end of it safely. in peril, feral with unparalleled attention to detail. because you’re so taken, with such oration, what you get away with. what you get away.
promenade.
apt to see future maybes. all new sets of steps to take. ”if” or “when,” as simple as simple gets. you do more than write checks, just blank, just plain futility. downtime, distractions. out of phase, calling in favors. its poetic license, the mother lode. turn again to put the dreams on hold.
sinker.
i, for one, have never been in the business of pretending, but then again.. less reason to believe. the more i learn, the more i seem to repeat. the scissors in your hand, and i’m making lists to forget, to dismiss. having learned to stop the nevers, the forevers, forever. say it one more time with conviction. one more time with conviction.
cavalier.
just part of the routine, delete. ask me if i’m all right. a sinner and a saint, a new life in the making. but what’s new life, based on alibi? what’s new life, based on stolen time? you never could stop that. you never will stop that. collect the tolls in just time, oh, you, still perfecting those lines.
prettier.
are you terrified? you’re terrifying. the clever ones, always last, ending up amongst the grays and the cant’s. equal to the task, equal to none. always taking what the taking can get before the leaving have left. but we’re not history quite yet.
astringent.
wander and stumble in yesterday’s clothes, as you, doubtless, already know. failed senses, failed senseless. the art of scratching until it itches, walking away, turning your back until you miss it. oh, allure, you, the ancient lure. not something for everyone, but everything to some.
honey.
for good or bad, we’re here. on time, sound, and cured [obscured]. a little bit trial, a little bit error. a little less time to set apart the boredom and the terror. conceding defeat, left or let fall apart, just passed your heart. it’s all anyone can do, but it was too much for you. someone say something that counts. tell me it’s just something that everyone knows well. what i wouldn’t give to have tired of you.
harbinger.
actively self seeking, loyal to a fault. still can only see what you were already expecting. but that must have been crazy for you. must have been crazy for you. clearly, i’m not dying for anything. clearly, it’s not anything. broken for the sake of clarity. talk about a loss.
