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Trophies

from Seisin by J Alfred Prufrock

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lyrics

Trace it with your eyes, laying on the shelf. You think you’ve got the prize but you’re playing with yourself. You do the right thing every day; it doesn’t help. You say what’s on your mind without saying what you felt. Aching to define what you see in someone else and why that comes first before earth, before wealth, before health. You’re coughing, tightening your throat. Stepping over lines like the dopeness of hope is going straight to your bones because your veins are too skinny. Look to your notes, turn a page like Jimmy. But really, being alone is just fuel for a fire that burns with such vicissitude that you move on, but more like off. Your thoughts go blank and your words go soft. Your words, the only tools you ever trust, are crumbling and spreading through the air like dust. You come to learn the value of silence and that the world ain’t come from a stylus. But in your heart still brews much violence. Even in the quiet, it lurks like virus. You’ve got to keep their voices down. You’ve got to keep their ugly voices down. Glintering while the past is splintering; pure simplicity will have you whimpering more than the complex. You read God’s text; a dead judgment that plead no contest. Think of God’s breath: unattended wind. Now picture God’s death: that’s the end of sin. You’re no friend to him but you’re familiar. Gold twine but the shine doesn’t thrill you. What doesn’t kill you is still concerted. What doesn’t feel good makes you feel worthless. There’s no in between, serene purpose. What doesn’t feel good makes you feel worthless. As if you really mattered to the world. As if it really even mattered to the world. As if it really mattered to the world. As if you really even mattered to the world.

credits

from Seisin, released March 8, 2013

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J Alfred Prufrock image

J Alfred Prufrock Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

contact: cruelestapril@gmail.com

***I have no formal relation to Thomas Stearns***

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