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

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

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

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 

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.

ring of stones

at the... 

end of the 

actual 

day

when the... 

moon pushes 

through the 

sky

we fold 

our bones

round a ring 

of stones

and talk 

across 

a fire

we talk 

across 

a fire

we wonder how - we will get through the snow

we wonder how - we will carry this load

we wonder how - we will build a new home

we wonder how - we will follow this road

oh, go on

we go on

we can do 

nothing else 

but go on

oh, go on

we go on

and we sing

while we walk

a walking song 

till the... 

end of the 

actual 

day

when the... 

moon pushes 

through the 

sky

we fold 

our bones

round a ring 

of stones

and talk 

across 

a fire

remember how - we would lie in the grass

remember how - we would play by the shore

remember how - we would watch the day pass

remember how - we wanted nothing more


[[ nomads, refugees, wanderers  ]]

invisible forces

it's only a song

only a song

this earth is a ball 

holding together 

with nothing at all 

holding together 

but invisible forces

mysterious forces 

only this breath can  

hold off the dark 

keep us from death

hold off the dark 

only this blue breath of sky...

with invisible forces

mysterious forces 

a current running 

through the earth 

beneath our feet

hey, little boy

you have dirt

between your toes

and every time you fart

I know the way

the wind blows

rerun

stay home, 

eat chips, 

solve the case 

of the girl 

in the bullet 

brassiere

life is good

but is this

the good life?

it is.

when we die

we will die 

you can die scraping ice off a car 

you can fall off a rock

I will die 

with the brain 

from beyond 

making rude 

overtures

to Nurse Nancy