1. |
Grand Sultan Summer
01:53
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Spring has sprung.
In yellow plumes, it hangs like a chromatic noose.
Blonde air, blue skies.
This is an insemination.
A heatwave blisters an early birth.
The mother, Grand Sultan.
A summer, renewed amidst seasons askew.
Shedding pedals like snake skin.
Strange fruit will grow, fall, and feed.
Driving us mad as it rots in the blazing gaze,
piercing mothers shade.
Grand Sultan twists in the attention.
Ever the beauty, ever the burden.
Ever the conversation piece.
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2. |
The Shining Wire
02:09
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“Gather one and all!
You’re cordially invited
to the spotlight on the stage!”
The crowd begins to swell and sway
around the bed they’ve made us make.
With a want on every breath,
mouths are spouting
“More please! More Please! More Please!”
It’s a growing chorus of frantic, irrational need.
“Would you kindly play assistant
in strangling the life from us!
Show your hands if you’re willing!
Step right up and take a snare!”
They’re fashioned from your expectations.
They fit around our necks,
whispering to us, as we choke out
“Thank you! Thank you! You’re too kind!”
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3. |
Afterlife Kids
02:32
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Have we passed on from the glory of the gutter?
Life, afterlife.
A literal ghost town.
Our exploits exorcised like an apparition.
Lore to fiction.
Silhouette wraiths idling through latter-day stills,
murmuring “In Memoriam”.
Our bodies, just transient headstones.
A temperate death for the dead.
OR...
Did we escape with our lives?
The final girl, hiding and crying wild
in the dailies of small town cinema-faire.
Nine lives to be lived out mild.
Oh, I want to live mild.
Smiling and waving goodbye
to the ghost of the villain,
relentlessly stalking the frames of our sequels.
Screaming, “You will never catch me!”
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4. |
I Don't Need This
02:24
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“It’s nothing personal.”
Sighed the ticking of time, with a thieving gale.
My vexing hexes flit free.
“You won’t need these where you’re going.”
Much to everyone’s surprise, I go willingly.
“Oh, so happy to disappoint”
I muttered, turned away, and ran.
Ran a distance measured in years.
Now, the road sleeps, quiet as a grave.
It doesn’t call. I can’t hear it, anyway.
Got busy living down a dead end street.
Dead in the best possible way.
All I hear are children at play,
while laying my Sunday’s to rest.
Too tied up to write this down.
Though, I thought you should know.
I definitely don’t need to come back to this.
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5. |
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What songs will he sing?
I sing him my songs, the songs my mother sang.
This is the refrain that has authored me.
The composition writes itself out
from the hands of a flawed house.
It leads and drags in thematic dissonance,
With Unhinged stoicism.
An earnestly contrived guiding hand,
affectionately detached.
Ballad of the father that I am.
A caesura filling with love.
A nocturne of what I need to be better than.
I sing the songs my mother sang.
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6. |
Bedtime
01:34
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Child, it’s 18 minutes till bedtime.
Today’s a contagion,
now I’m waxing these horns.
So, for your own good, drift till you dream wild.
Conjure the specter of a better me.
Tomorrow, I’ll have shaved my devil down to dust.
The tenebrous night will hide you away
from the woeful creeping between the sun’s rays.
Even when what’s creeping is me.
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7. |
What's Cremation?
01:46
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“Daddy, What’s cremation?” He said to me, misty eyed.
How am I supposed to reply? With a riddle? A white lie?
Truth’s hourglass falls a heavy grain.
I close my eyes and ponder loss.
Crafting what tomorrow’s grief deserves today.
“In the morning, we’ll mourn our dead,
because the seasons have had their say.
What made her will be as gone as God,
so we’ll set what’s left ablaze.”
Gather the dust in a handheld grave,
like huckle bearers in a procession.
Ever fading from your mind as your tears dry.
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8. |
That's Just Swell
03:35
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The Saturday sun is on the decline.
Easy as pie. It’s yet another dead end soirée.
The children play as wild as what hides
from the still lingering light.
We spend a lifetime in the end of that day.
Hoping our chatter will keep the dark away.
Cruel as time, the light retreats.
Locks us away, soothes us to sleep.
This lullaby, our shield. We sing.
“Always a pleasure.
Hissed the snakes, from outside.
Always a pleasure.
We bathe in the day’s long light
Our dead end will endlessly strive
for that sandlot kind of life
but when the sun hides from sight
let the dusk tuck you in tight
for the copperheads have the night.”
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9. |
So Long, Dear Bellows
03:36
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Breathe in with a grin.
Breathe out with a sigh.
Raze your revenants, lamenting.
Blow them a kiss goodbye.
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