the thing that eats you

[[ random stuff from a cowboy movie, extrapolated ]]

it is of course the size that strikes you first and last and always in the west

the big forever lies across the surface where that red star goes to rest

this cloud approaching weighs as much as any locomotive made of steel

you measure empty none by none until the all alone is all you feel

out on the land

working the land

always the land 

working you

I would accompany my pa to town each month before the next full moon

we'd spend the evenings watching dancers clomp the boards and sing at the saloon

the actresses encouraged me to get behind the stage and watch them all

the exits and the entrances were always ready for a curtain call

out on the land

working the land

always the land 

working you

there is no place to hide a body when the wind turns every breath to dust

there is no place to hide a body when the rain clouds fatten up and bust

there is no place to hide a body when the snow begins to pile high

there is no place to hide a body when the sun returns to bake it dry

he said he saw the story of his life roll through the inside of his mind

then called out to a horse he used to have like he had somewhere else to find

but he had nowhere all before him stretched out in the dying of the sun

the thing that eats you when it eats you is of course the thing you left undone

out on the land

working the land

always the land 

working you

there is no place to hide a body when the wind turns every breath to dust

there is no place to hide a body when the rain clouds fatten up and bust

there is no place to hide a body when the snow begins to pile high

there is no place to hide a body when the sun returns to bake it dry

the definite article

an indefinite death 

is all we can imagine

a good death 

is all we can wish for 

the death we get

is the definite article

it's always dangerous

[[ After looking at pictures of James Dean's wrecked car. ]]

it's always dangerous

to live in the 50s

typewritten testimony 

death certificate

some unincorporated

part of California

where turnip seed and

spider intersect

keep your eyes peeled

out on antelope road

a spider cartwheeling over the desert

it feels like

[[ A love song of sorts. ]]

it feels like  

it feels like flying  

it feels good  

it feels like  

it feels like dying  

it feels good  

  

pushing clouds away  

pushing back the day  

pushing today back into the box and sending it home  

it feels like  

it feels like crawling  

it feels good  

it feels like  

it feels like falling  

it feels good  

it feels like love should feel like love  

it feels like love should feel like love  

it feels like love should feel like love  

it feels like love should feel like love  

it feels like 

it feels like dying  

it feels good  

northern territories (run him down)

[[ Based on the "Albert Johnson" case of 1931-1932 but not a slave to the page. ]]

That was never his real name.

He wasn't from around here.

He was a nothing from nowhere,

come north to disappear.

A minor legal infraction

put the Mounties on his case,

but he was no one for no one

and so began the chase.

When the game gets up to run,

all you can do,

all you can do

is run him down.

They tried negotiations;

He put a shot through the door.

They tried to reason man to man,

but he was no man anymore.

They chased him up the river;

he went over the divide.

They chased him through the winter

till one of them died.

 

And that was it, son. You don't kill a Mountie and run.

When the game gets up to run,

all you can do,

all you can do

is run him down.

Leave his carcass steaming on the ground.

seance (I'm the flick of a switch)

[[ Fairly obvious. End-of-life medical care and typical family gathering to see the person out. The person is more than ready to go. (Also, this is my living will: snuff me out when things get bad.) ]]

Die in hospital 

Holes in skin

Tubes go out

Tubes go in

That's the balance

Lungs abubble

Every breath

One for life

One for death

That's the balance

Now gather round

and watch me burn down,

my tribe around a fire.

I'm the flick of a switch.

Turn off the light

and look for the spark

from the end of this frayed wire.

I'm the flick of a switch.

Let me go.

I'm the flick of a switch.

Stop the meter. This is the end of my ride.

neither here nor there

the heretofore hereafter
that definite infinite
those undeserved deserts
are dying with us

there, now, there, there
she's in the hereafter
one of the winged choir
perched on a rafter

(no one has ever
heard anything dafter)

now, there, now now
he's in the eternal
all the liars pluck lyres
to tunes from the hymnal

(no one has ever 
told something more criminal)


the elsewhere,
the otherwhere,
the anywhere,
the somewhere,
the nowhere,
now they are neither
here nor there

intentional love song 17: a girl from Love Canal

she was a girl from Love Canal

she had a taste for the banal  

now she is dead - what of it?

now she is dead - what of it?

only her and me and the river, and only the only river means a thing

we would park out by the river

i would give what i could give her

now she is dead - what of it?

now she is dead - what of it?

only her and me and the river, and only the only river means a thing

she smelled of coconut and woman

i was young and barely human

now she is dead - what of it?

now she is dead - what of it?

now she's gone with her family

nothing and nothing to do with me

only her and me and the river, and only the only river means a thing

threading the eye of a needle

a mug of coffee

steaming on the front step 

striped pajamas

stooping to the news

three martinis

waiting at the airport

Sunday morning

is turning the screws

threading the eye of a needle

meanwhile, we're dying 

strapped in our cars  

the kids in the back

watching shooting stars

meanwhile, we're dying 

slumped in a chair  

leaving EMTs

to stroke the kid's hair

going out happy

surprise, surprise

look at daddy's eyes

look at mommy's eyes

threading the eye of a needle

You can know nothing

[[ This started from two episodes in Ryszard Kapuściński, The Shadow of the Sun, and his description of how there is little in the way of twilight in Africa -- it is light and then BANG it is dark, and then, twelve hours later, BANG, it is light again. But I have let something of the ambiguous and possible hints of the metaphysical or epistemological creep into it. ]]

You can know nothing

before and after.

On the way to Kumase,

our bus stops somewhere.

A woman gathers to herself her children.

She rests her bowl upon her head

and walks into the trees.

You can know nothing

before and after.

When the sun comes up,

there is no prelude to rising.

This is the old adventure.

On the Serengeti,

our truck has a flat.

Lions rest round shreds of antelope.

They watch us half an hour, then rise

and walk into the grass.

You can know nothing

before and after.

When the sun goes down,

it is gone.

This is the old adventure.

the weight of the soul

[[ Weapons -- bullets, bombs, missiles -- and the technology of violence, the politics and philosophy of violence, the blinking out of life. And there was the famous (?) experiment in which someone claimed to weigh the human soul and came up with 21 grams. ]] 

how fast they move

these pieces of metal

how hard and sharp 

they make themselves known

the projection of power

is airtight, cylindrical, 

streamlined and modular

how small they seem 

these pieces of certainty

how they disintegrate

all understanding 

the end of it all 

has just crossed the border

and gone underground

how fast they die 

the cells of memory

how the mind blinks out

second by second

the weight of the soul

is the difference between

the body before and after

how small we seem

with no more certainty

how we disintegrate

past understanding

the end of it all 

has just crossed the border

and gone underground

the weight of the soul

is the difference between

the body before and after

we die surrounded,

surrounding, before and after,

feel the weight of the soul

get out of this night

[[ escaping the immediate (literal) or escaping life (figurative) ]]

I'm only trying to get a taxi out of here

I'm only trying to make myself disappear

I'm only trying to leave this city behind

Before I catch that ride

I need to get out of this night

I'm only searching for a crosstown bus

I'm only searching for a way out of us

I'm only trying to leave my trouble behind

Before I catch that ride

I need to get out of this night

I can't walk any further

I can't walk any further

I can't walk any further

someone get me out of here

someone carry me away from here

I'm only hoping for a ride from a friend

I'm only hoping for this whole thing to end

I'm only trying to leave this world behind

Before I catch that ride

I need to get out of this night

The Circling Song

Forget the crawling aliens

That's all you under the skin

You will get out of this on your own

without magic medicine

The vultures are circling, Joni,

immobile in your chair;

the vultures take souvenir snaps 

to say "I was there".

Don't look to gods or astrology

The stars don't know you exist

Everything you are is you 

and everyone you've ever kissed

The vultures are circling, Joni,

hold close but have no doubt,

the vultures will pose with red mouths

and pull your insides out.

Remember the first confinements

Remember every long day 

You can get out of this on your own

get up and walk away 

Pull up your stockings 

get up and walk away 

intentional love song 3: not that it's true

[[ she (or he?) wants a change in the dynamics of their relationship or a change in herself (himself?) or she/he wants to leave him/her or she wants a sex reassignment or she wants to attain nirvana or she wants to kill herself or... ]]

what if I wanted

-- not that it's true --

to vanish forever?

what would we do?

what if I wanted

-- not that it's true --

to change... 

man to woman,

woman to man,

what would we do?

who would be who?

what if I wanted

-- not that it's true --

it's a simple thought experiment 

between me and you

what if I wanted

-- not that it's true --

to vanish forever

from you?

what would you do?

what if I wanted

nothing at all?

I am standing on the edge of this world

will you help me let go of this girl?

do you love me 

enough to let her go?

who wants 

a girl who wants

nothing at all?

who wants a girl... who wants a girl?

who wants a girl... who wants a girl?

who wants a girl... who wants a girl? 

bullets are faster

watch a man die

on a corner some night

it starts with a look

it starts up a fight

it starts to look bad

when your man pulls a gun

it starts off a miniature

war against one

they tell him to get the fuck

down on the ground

they tell him but

bullets are faster

bullets are faster than sound

might as well step

in the way of a train

"get the fuck..." comes

with a shot to the brain

they tell him to get the fuck

down on the ground

they tell him but

bullets are faster

bullets are faster than sound

watch a man die

on a corner some night

it starts with a look

it starts up a fight

Jack Robinson

[[ using all manner of cliche and a repetitive first line as the rhyme to tell the story of a man on a corner who saw another man die ]]

Man was standing here

before my own eyes

this was before your time

Man was standing here

stabbed in the back

before you could say knife

Man was standing here

straight in the eye

saw his soul leave his body

Man was standing here

then he was down forever

you could cut the atmosphere

Man was standing here

never learned his name

he was here and then he was gone

X-ray Tex

someone run and get me 

an x-ray technician

think I see a shadow on my heart

someone run and get me 

some self-medication

think I see a shadow on my heart

turn up! (turn up!)

the radiation! (radiation!)

think I see a shadow on my heart

doctor see a shadow 

right there on my chart

doctor find something 

hiding behind my heart

perched in a cage

built of my bone

set on a swing

and singing alone

this little bird

is singing a song

of something gone wrong

tick, tick, tick

something no longer

follows the script

if I were a saint

if I were a saint

I would smile as you slipped

you would smile as you slipped

your sword through my heart

how we would be

in a painting of us

I would smile as we slipped

your sword through my heart

Bob

[[ I was reading the obituaries and listening to songs. Suddenly, Bob and Elvis. ]] 

I saw your face 

while I was listening 

to mystery train.

Why sixteen coaches?

Sixteen's always 

the lecher's number.

Why long black train?

Long and black are always

porn specifications.

This is the nonsense

I'd have told you

but you were dead.

Are dead. Be dead. 

Or not be dead. Ride 

the mystery train.

I had an oracle

[[ It starts with a reductive yammer on life and then switches to a favorite theme of mine, Bede's sparrow. The first half is written in short chunks to be sung line by line, each almost independent of the lines before and after it. Then a shift to longer lines, slower rhythm, and all of it is the reported speech of the oracle. "She said..." ]]

I had an oracle 

tell it to me:

past, present, future --

all she could see.

There wasn't much,

all much the same.

We're all alike.

It's all a game.

I'll live and die,

and, in between,

be a regular guy.

Be a regular guy.

She said 

there was a sparrow

flew in one window

of a great hall,

a feast before a fire.

She said 

there was a sparrow

warm for a moment

in the fire light

and flew across the room.

She said 

there was a sparrow 

there for the moment,

that space of time,

then out another window and gone.

I had an oracle 

tell it to me:

past, present, future --

all she could see.