1. |
Intro
01:01
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2. |
Father, My Rifle
02:12
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Father, my rifle's gone. Should have listened when you said: "Stay home." Now I'm cracking in the cold and my hands aren't feeling quite so bold. In the passing light, images of life don't reassure. When I learn it right, I won't have to ask what this is for. It's an even fight between what you don't mean and I ignore. Growing, out of spite, for every upright hole shaped like a door. Father, my coat is torn as the sky was you say the day I was born. I can see my breath in plumes mixed with yours when I stand next to you.
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3. |
High Time/Low Tide
02:37
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Every mountain fits in your small eyes when the sky curves like a bullshit smile. It's high time/low tide that I feel you come up behind me and not quite touch. I opened my eyes and saw that I am not the only one on earth. Every explosion crawls into your ears, tuned exactly for you to hear. Seeming closer now, but so unknown; your universal feelings made of bone.
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4. |
Across An Arm
02:59
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Into the predetermined fold. Why do we want who we want when we see them and do what we do? And feel our blood run through? I said: "I don't love anything but you." The stone was cold beneath our thighs. Our lips were never supposed to meet because only one face knew about need. If you lived a lot of days but never looked at yourself in a world without consequence then you can't really become anyone perched on the fence like a bird. I'm walking on the edge of a wall and coming across my heart/an arm.
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5. |
This Is A Lie
02:08
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This is a lie about her, but you'll believe it coming from me. I wanted to hold the ideas swimming around in my own brain which I named after you. You dyed a streak in your hair and I died every night, phone in hand, consciously dreaming of being late. I try to care that you're suffering. You try to care that I'm suffering. We go on scraping pain from behind our ears, collecting years. "I just hope I haven't hurt you deeply and you know you've given me a gift." Now our pleasures keep us rootless; a tame jungle of changing clouds. And I bet you didn't notice there's an arc to the way we've split. Two-headed memories inlaid before the bricks of experience fell.
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6. |
History
01:40
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Faces in a cycle; which showed first? I'm aware I'm thinking of my birth. Out of perfect hurt into endless numb. You're body's gone. You're the only one. The rest of my life is history. Coming around to who I'd be. The rest of my life's a mystery. Gallantly told and not once seen. Empty, empty vessel full of sense. No category held for recompense. If it's the first time, it's also the last. Extinguished true selves light up the past.
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7. |
In A Whole
02:30
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I hope you feel human, living breathing dust. Know you have no bearing on any of us. But still patterned in a whole design cut short by old data noise, sunny side down. Cross-bearers with pockets full of ashes ask for forgiveness, ask: "Where the weed at?" This is the new public outcry, silent and salient. Nothing but the echo of an unread speech.
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8. |
Blueprints
03:25
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I am the rain breaking like a wave over shores of strange, new loves. I am the ground heartening the sound that emanates from above. Look up and find blueprints in your mind worth nothing to you or I. I am the leaves urging them to believe everything must one day move. I am the moon hung in bright afternoon waiting for now to become soon.
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9. |
Palm Offering
01:58
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On a naked, skinny road I saw a face like spotless snow. I heard a voice that rose in red, calling out just overhead. She screamed: "Why don't you die with me?" Then she opened up her palm, offering a light like dawn. Beckoning to nowhere new, merely making space for you.
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10. |
Female Eyes
01:55
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The man doesn't match up to his words. These episodes subtract through waiting to be a better shadow in a recast light. Female eyes betting on tomorrow. He already became what he was, an indolent soul un-caged. Sole reflecting, no connecting; breathed out for emphasis.
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11. |
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J Alfred Prufrock Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
contact: cruelestapril@gmail.com
***I have no formal relation to Thomas Stearns***
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