close to hand

[[ Just another song about Mesolithic life. ]]


What we eat,
muscle and fat,
is what we can.

And then the skin,
fur and feather,
tooth and tusk,
belly and bladder,
tendon and bone,
we put to use.

What kept them warm
will keep us warm.
What cut their enemy down
will cut ours down.

We make our tools
from what we find.
We work with what
is close to hand.

The sharp edge
of a broken stone.
The borrowed points
of other creatures.

And when we die,
we bury ourselves
in dirt and stone
with antler and flint,
belly and bone.

the meanness of work

They put up new buildings
as fast as they can
tear down the old ones.

One fall, one morning,
one more old building
with that ornate facade

is fenced in and blasted,
pulled down on its face,
and just trucked away.

Spring come the excavators,
cranes, steel and glass,
then twenty empty stories.

what do you see in the dark?

[[ Mine work, mine family.  ]]

daddy comes up 

from working the mine

black as sin

mama goes to him 

and strips him and 

scours his skin

come on up, daddy, 

and we can have breakfast

leave off that dirty old work

come and cheer mama up 

tell us a story

what do you see in the dark,

my daddy?

what do you see in the dark?

daddy works nights 

and comes out of the ground  

with the sun

mama feeds daddy

then says come to bed,

your day's done

come on up, daddy, 

and we can have breakfast

leave off that dirty old work

come and cheer mama up 

tell us a story

what do you see in the dark,

my daddy?

what do you see in the dark?

gasoline and perfume

the peace of the past

is gasoline and perfume

burning off surfaces

me pulling the zipper up 

the back of her dress

and watching her fix sticky lips

this is the soil

I am rooted in

this is the air

I inhale

me peeling his boots 

from his feet after work 

and watching the earth fall away

this is the soil

I am rooted in

this is the air

I inhale

gasoline and perfume

burn away in the sun


[[ smells and sights of childhood ]]

Bang

Bang.

Remember me?
I'm the girl next door

I'm the girl you want
I'm the girl you want to

Bang.

I'm a girl you used
I'm a girl you used to

Bang.

Know how it is
Know how it is

Know how it is

I was born dead, baby.
Or I died of disease
I was carried off by lions
Or I was left out to freeze

Bang.

I was raped at twelve
a mother at thirteen
I was bred again at fourteen
and a corpse at fifteen

Bang.

Know how it is
Know how it is

Know how it is

Or I was married off early
to some man from the town
I met him when I wed him.
They had to tie me down.

Bang.

Or I was sent to the kitchen,
or the cellar, the attic,
I was banged in them all
till I hanged myself out back

Bang.

Know how it is
Know how it is

Know how it is

I was sent to the factory,
or warehouse or workhouse
I ran off one night for
asylum in the whorehouse

Bang.

I was beaten to death
for my terrible crime
but not till the bastards
banged me one last time

Bang.

Know how it is
Know how it is

Know how it is

I am
the dust
you breathe in,
you breathe out
every day.

I am
your family
confession
written in
your DNA.

you don't know how it is
I hardly know
I hardly know myself

You don't know how it is
Know how it is
Know how it is

Know how it is

Bang.

[[ There is no coherent narrative intended. It's not about one girl, so details of the story differ. The girl in one line dies one way and dies another way in another line. It's a series of images. If it was a video, you'd see different scenes, different girls, different ages, different eras, different circumstances, but always girls being mistreated. "I'm Every Woman" being abused, married off, enslaved, beaten, raped, killed. Maybe that last bang is her putting a bullet in someone. ]]

the large glass

[[ Duchamp's "La mariée mise à nu par ses célibataires, même" and Manet's "Un bar aux Folies Bergère" whirled together. ]]

the large glass 

behind her

means nothing

to her

the large glass 

before her

means nothing

to her

the gentleman 

in facial fur

means nothing

to her

it is broken

is gone

in perspective

this man 

he could be you

a gentleman

in facial fur

telling her

pour me

a glass

in perspective

this woman 

she could be you

serving in a 

cinched waist

carefully

wishing him 

gone

Kentucky Air

[v1]

Six days a week,

ten hours a day,

under the State of Kentucky

earning my pay.

[v2]

Half a mile under,

you're forced to crawl;

first you feel new muscles growing,

then nothing at all.

[stuff in the middle]

The deeper

I go I am

the closer

to hell I am

the closer

to hell I am

the farther

from you I am

the farther

from you

[v3]

Stand in this cage

and fall through the black.

Ride all the way to the bottom

and hope I come back.

[v4]

Some men might mind,

but I don't care

long as I know you will wait in

this Kentucky air.

[[ The first couple of stanzas are the typical coal miner's life, according to an interview with a miner. Six days a week, 10-hour shifts, hunched, different muscles, etc.

The rest is a story. He loves her and the cool air.

]]

little green men

[[ about the day aliens finally came, or foreign workers, or environmentalists ]]

We gave up beer

We gave up dope

We gave up God 

We gave up hope

We gave up cars

and parking space.

We walked, for Christ's 

sake, in disgrace.

I used to work there;

Turned a knob.

They took our factory,

job by job.

In walked Roberto

Out walked Bob

They took the factory

They took my knob

little green men

We didn't know 

what hit us

We didn't know 

a thing

We didn't see 

it coming

We didn't know 

a god damned thing

little green men

Right here in Jonestown,

In Grover's Mill,

In Roanoke, Virginia,

On Bunker Hill

the noon office

[[ how days pass ]]

It's not so awful,
this office glass,
these window shades,
each slice of light
across my face.

At noon with tea
I look across:
another building,
another looking glass
ten stories high,
half an hour long,
thirty minutes,
one thousand
eight hundred
seconds, to stand
at this window
to settle my mind.

We learn to catch
it in the glass:
A cloud, a cloud,
a cloud, a cloud,
another cloud.
A cloud, a cloud,
a cloud,
the track of sun.
And day is done.

At night I am
a tattooed cannibal.
At night I am
engraved.
At night I am
the pinpoint voice
between my ears.

And then we are
a binary star.

certain situations

you find yourself	you have yourself	you find yourself	you make yourself
some mornings	a couple	afternoons	say something
in the kitchen	eggs and bacon	elbow to elbow	promise progress
watching someone	mumble something	with working people	to a  roomful
you don't know	go to work	you don't know	of unknowns

and where do you drive to now? 

you can't go home

it is not home

the quiet crawls the length of your back

you cannot work

it is not work

the seasons roll past airtight windows

you want to fill your pockets
with the pebbles of the beach
and measure out the pier

and one step more

it's dark down there

it's deep enough
to do the job
just long enough

Whisky, whores, and gold (fuck this town)

[[ is it a Broadway song or a country song or a folk song? ]] 

Why should a man 

dig potatoes 

all day 

in these fields,

when there's gold 

to be dug 

from the ground? 

Why should a man 

hitch his wagon 

to the neighbor's 

pale girl,

when he could swing

a new dancer 

each night?

Why should a man 

grind out his life

in these 

four square walls,

when he could ride 

a straight line

till he's gone?

Why should a man

spend his days

signing checks

in this town,

when he could go

give a mountain

his name?

[[ first the noble-sounding stuff... ]] 

Ride 

with the morning behind you

Ride 

with the night in your eyes

Die 

with the stars rolling over your bones, but

Live

under infinite skies

[[ ...but then cut to the truth ]]

Course there's gold and whores and whisky,

Whores and whisky and gold.
Wouldn't want a girl to miss me

Wouldn't be a man to be told

All I want is whores and whisky

Give me whisky and whores
And gold.

I'm going out west, 

Cause fuck this town.

I will strike a match

I will burn it down

Fuck the thirteen colonies

Right from Maine on down

Fuck every city 
to the Mississippi

But, most of all, 
fuck this town.

I can't say I'm not going to miss you

I can't say I won't look around

But I can't stay another damned minute

Or I swear I will burn this place down