1. |
Little Circles
01:17
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My true love left me
In the city, but I get so awful bored.
Now I’m catching eyes from the passerbys—
I’ve been cutting little circles in the floor.
But it runs and it rains on the cattle in the trains
And the weather in the vanes turns North.
I don’t like your smile when we’re dancing for a while—
We were cutting little circles in the floor.
Oh, won’t you come with me, little darling, to the
To the library. I am confident
We will both enjoy our books a little more
Than each other’s company.
(chorus)
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2. |
Softly Calling
05:05
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Dresses and shoes, I never meant to be rude.
I never meant to be rude, but she’s catching my eye.
Braids in her hair, and my obvious stares
As my words come tumbling by,
Like na, na, na.
I’m a fool...
I am lost in my thoughts, dear.
But of you—
I scarcely know a phrase.
Buttons and string and my flying machine,
My flying machine right for skimming the ground.
Stitches and thread; has it gone to my head?
Other birds come tumbling down.
Other birds come tumbling down…
And the ghosts
Of my misguided ideas—
Alone, they softly talk me to sleep.
Softly calling to me.
Portraits and plants; shall I ask you to dance?
Shall I ask you to dance, while I’m feeling so light?
Glasses and spoons move through candlelit rooms
As our worlds come tumbling by.
As our worlds come tumbling by—
And I long to write pages
In your swift, perfect script, dear.
Or draw all the places
I’ve seen shining, deep in your eyes.
Shining, deep in your eyes.
Now the moon and the chimes and the spirits collide.
Our spirits collide, and I’m never prepared.
For pigeons and crows and the scar on your nose,
All softly calling me there…
To that long
[Won’t you come with me, honey, to see]
Stretch of green in the Unknown.
[The dark waters beneath the Divide?]
I belong
[Take my hand at the edge of the chasm]
On that time forgotten road.
[And down to the waterside.]
And I long to see mountains,
[Step through the caves at the base of the stone]
And that soft stretch of mist where
[Where they laid out the graves of our childish dreams.]
The Earth divides humans
[Mark out a map of the chambers and caverns;]
From creatures yet unknown.
[We’ll leave here entirely different beings.]
And I want to see faces
[See in the lines of their brow all the colors]
Of my Ancients and Kinsfolk.
[You’ve felt in the back of your heart all this while.]
Alone, in these places,
[Feel the weight of the places they’ve passed through,]
They’re softly calling to me.
[The moments engraved in their minds.]
Softly calling to me...
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3. |
||||
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The dog at the pawn shop is chasing its tail.
I’m a train on the tracks; I’m a deer on the trail.
I’ve been driving these pipe dreams—
Try as you might, you can’t rouse me.
With the Sun in my eyes, I’ll come running to you.
You’ll be dragging your heels, making clouds with your shoes.
Making up some new phrase for a song,
But, my god, you confound me.
The difference is simple, but patience is tough when you’re young.
My food is still hot, but I’m always off burning my tongue.
So long as I cling to the tracks, I will shovel the coal,
And wherever we trample the grass I will fashion my road.
Now you’re cutting your bangs, and I’m changing my shirt.
We’ve been drawing our map, scratching lines in the dirt.
Well, it works for a while—
(Just wait ‘til the next time the rain comes.)
There’s a patched-up jacket on the back of my couch;
Forgotten the last time you stopped by my house.
I left a note in the pocket;
Now I’m thinking I’ll just hold it ransom.
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4. |
Ghosts
02:59
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Ghost in the back room;
Ghost on the couch.
Ghost in the basement, shaking the house.
Never wrote to Margaret.
Never wrote to Dawn.
Never saw the Angels put their white shoes
On and up and up and over—
Sleeping easy ‘neath the clover, oh!
Coulda been a seamstress;
Coulda been the King.
She traded in her fortune to hear the sparrows sing—
Singing from a hedge bush;
Singing from the vine:
Song that sounds of Old Love.
Song that sounds of Time.
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5. |
Market Streets
03:51
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The market streets are bustling;
The city’s waking up!
I’m but a stranger here on Earth,
But for now I call it home.
Aside I spot a photo of a carved, bedraggled man
His eyes are caverns holding memories
That he (and maybe I) will only know.
Only hopes and empty lines will run about me now.
The morning bus pulls up beside me,
Hissing to a stop—
I’m not a rider today,
But I watch them as they board.
The shelter seat sits empty, now,
As raindrops fleck the glass,
Like cigarette butts near the ashtray sign,
Clumsily or carelessly ignored.
I’m burning out
For now, but time will save my flame.
I hope it rains like this all day:
A quiet tapping on my skin,
But not enough to get me drenched
Or send me running back inside.
“I want you to meet a friend of mine,”
A woman says into a phone,
To someone I may never know
The name of, or the colors in their mind.
I close my eyes and separate
Myself from this reality—
I want to see so many, many things.
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6. |
Only You
03:27
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Burning like a red rose; burning like a pyre.
Keep me on your back, like a clambering child.
It’s warmer than your white cheeks,
Warmer than the smiles,
When everybody calls your name.
Often in a whisper, and often with a clap!
Just steady-as-she-goes while I’m holding to your back.
Arms around your shoulders; arms around your knees—
Hear everybody, everybody sing:
Call me, so soft, as I brush your hand.
Let your smooth notes fall on this hot, dry land.
Oh, I don’t need anybody to sing your tune:
Only you.
Saw it in the stained glass; saw it on the waters.
I thought I heard you calling for your sons and daughters.
It tickles like a soft kiss, but quicker than a sting,
When everybody, everybody sings.
Carried through the forest; carried up along the stream;
Carried further than I ever coulda gone upon my feet.
It’s greener than the pastures, greener than the leaves
When everybody sees your face.
Brighter than a white moon; brighter than the flares,
But darker than the night while we walk upon the air.
Oh, following the angels, following the bees,
Hear everybody, everybody sing.
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7. |
Cobbled Together
04:41
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All of your pieces, cobbled together
With stretches of sinew, fragments of leather.
But I can’t complete you:
I can hardly even keep you around.
Oh, I’m not your answer, honey.
I’m just the scents and the sound.
I’m down at the bookshop,
Stretching my thoughts like
Soft, summer evenings,
Stretching to midnight.
But I’m not a bookworm—
I just need to compose a reply
For next time you catch me
With that innocent look in your eyes.
And I fall back, hard on my shoulders.
[I step, I stumble, and I fall back hard and now]
My words can’t seem to survive.
[The pieces scatter on the ground.]
Though I fought so hard for composure,
[I try to mend you, but it’s all pretend; you know]
There’s just no changing your mind.
[I’m just the scents and the sound.]
All of your insights, and inspirations—
Are they discernment, or just decorations?
But I don’t need foresight;
I just want you to help me calm down.
Oh, you’re no foundation, honey.
You’re just the weight of the ground.
There’s just no changing your mind now, honey, oh.
There’s just no changing your mind…
[I start to stumble; I start to fall back down.]
[My thoughts, my pieces, they scatter on the ground.]
[I’m not your fix: I’m the senses in the sound—]
[It’s just another thing to fight about…]
All of your pieces are cobbled together
With stretches of sinew, fragments of leather.
But I can’t complete you:
I can hardly even keep you around…
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8. |
Primordial Creatures
03:27
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On my way home I am struck by an innocent man
In a cap, looking South ‘cross the bridge.
And eyeing the geese in the shade of the trees there,
As a slow roll of water turns over the ridge.
Mary-Beth says that all water is ancient:
Once brought here by comets, from Jupiter’s sling,
And dripped through the teeth of primordial creatures;
Drenched in the skins of the first human beings.
But I’m on my bike, and the sunlight is awful,
And all I can think about now is a drink.
The weather outside is 100 degrees,
But at least there’s a breeze.
I pull my bike toward the leaves of the maples,
But the geese in the shade are refusing the move.
I sense myself nearing a territorial scuffle,
And gauge by their numbers it’s one I would lose.
Wandering off toward the banks in a haze,
Splashing murky brown water on my lips and my cheeks.
Primordial creatures, they wake up within me.
I take off my helmet and fall in the creek.
The weather outside is one million degrees,
But at least there’s a breeze.
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9. |
On, Along, and Through
03:57
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Purple flowers, swaying in the bend by the windowsill.
When you round the corner, you can see for miles off the top of the hill.
And still: I await your return.
Heart patient, but tired.
I’m just out here trying to brew myself some tea.
(Maybe the scent in the steam on the summer wind
Will draw you in—will call you back to me.)
And just as the river runs on, on along, along and through…
Just as you wonder whether you’ve been running from,
Or what you’ve been running to.
Windows half-cracked. The trees blur into a canyon
Beneath the steady-sliding silver sky,
And wondering whether, what for, and why
Does it matter if the Universe is spherical?
Ring shaped or conical? Linear or helix?
Parabola or tesseract?
Oh, lattice, fractal, crystalline, or bubble-bath?
Or maybe some unknown geometry
Of our endless, arcing interactions.
And is this how you,
Oh, how you know you are approaching something
By leaving everything?
Oh, and heading on, on along, along and through
A road that winds and tangles on—Maybe even more
Than time itself has tangled through the heart of you.
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10. |
No Difference
04:52
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Happy is the day that I wake up alone:
Become the creature that I have rightly known.
Spinning pistols on either hand,
I split my lips and crack the land.
My tongue spits flame and frost,
It makes no difference to me.
Happy is the day that I slip loose again.
Lifted up and stirred to nothing on the wind.
The heavy earth hanging far beneath
My ever-rising soul on storm-cloud wings.
On storm-cloud wings.
My tongue licks sky and lighting—
Makes no difference to me.
Happy is the day that we all lay down arms...
Then wrap our anger up and plant it in the yard.
Start our gardens on an open sore,
Say, “Hate once grew here, but no more.”
No more, riy-oh!
Our tongues taste dirt and water,
Makes no difference either.
Our tongues taste dirt and water,
Makes no difference.
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11. |
Morning Train Song
04:24
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You broke a bowl while you were fixing soup.
I said, “The best of us can try…”
But I was mistaken.
I was mistaken—I was misheard.
And in the cupboard, by the biscuit tin,
Beside the loosened board,
Where the church-mouse hoards the flour.
He hoards the flour, back in his nook.
And is it tough to be a sailor’s son?
To loosen the ropes and watch the boat slip over,
The boat slip over, and on away.
And is it tough to be a sailor’s wife?
To live your life with one eye on the horizon,
On the horizon; out on the sea…
You took the morning train into the fog:
Along the tracks and past the towns,
Always a-scrawling, always a-scrawling
In your leather book.
Then wrote a letter to your Ma and Pa,
You said, “The road is long and wild,
And I have forgotten…
I have forgotten the way back home.”
And is it hard to be a wanderer’s mom?
To see your girl set free, but always drifting,
Always a-drifting along the breeze.
And is it hard to be a wanderer?
To walk so far in thought, through all the faces,
Through all the faces that you have seen.
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12. |
Stories You Know
02:30
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Knotted like the stories you know—
Stories you know come down like rain from the gutters,
Bent by the weather and spilling right over.
Spilling from the splits in your lips,
In the corners of your eyes.
Spilling your burdens on an innocent passerby.
(He’s never even met you,
but he doesn’t need to ask you why.)
I figure, anyone who’s ever been through a storm knows:
It’s just ‘cause the clouds couldn’t carry any more
That the rain comes, slipping through our fingers
And staining our glasses frames and our notebook pages.
It’s just what you get for writing outside.
(But the heavy smell of metal on the stormfront wind
Will draw you out into the elements again.
And again, and again.)
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13. |
Mid October
04:34
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The dark falls softly on me;
I can’t see to the other side.
I’m wandering through the falling leaves:
They’re promising me wintertime.
And I’m wondering where I will be
When it starts to get cold.
Will I hibernate down in my den,
Or will I finally go out;
Get lost in the snow?
The branches by the fireplace,
I just burn what it takes to stay warm.
[You light a candle to raise me,]
Still whispers of longing; the frost
Comes nipping at the gaps in my door.
[Well, the wax has burned down, now.]
I’m wondering if I should seek you,
Or leave you alone.
[I still have so many unwritten words]
How far can I follow your path before my tracks are
[To put down…]
Up and covered in snow?
All swallowed in cotton, the clouds are painted
Crimson gently fading to grey.
[You gotta’ give me a try—]
From over on this side of the hill,
The morning seems further, and further away.
[It’s gonna take a long, long while.]
I’m wondering where I will be
When it starts to get cold.
[I still have so many things to say to you.]
Will I hibernate down in my den,
Or will I finally go out;
Get lost in the snow?
[Always leave so much unsaid…]
And I’m wondering if I should seek you,
Or leave you alone.
[But how do I get this weight from my guts]
How far can I follow your path before your tracks are
[To form words in my head?]
Up and covered in snow?
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14. |
House We Both Remember
05:26
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By the house we both remember,
Buried ashes, buried corn.
‘Til from the ground there sprouts a creature
I never seen before.
Took it to the doctor,
To determine, “Is it real?”
But the creature springs awake and takes
The doctor for its meal.
Singing, Oh, won’t you come,
Come with me back to the dirt?
There is rest for you aplenty,
In the belly of the Earth.
You will sleep so sweet and peaceful
Where the Sun don’t quite shine through...
‘Til something comes along and makes
A creature out of you!
Took the phone and called the policeman
To please, quick, send some help!
But the creature only licked its chops
And got the officer as well.
I broke toward the forest,
But I tripped and skinned my knee.
Then left to hear that awful voice again,
The creature coming over me...
Then it turned to me with a simple, earnest
Question in its eye.
It said, “Human, why do you seem quite
So disinclined to die?”
I mustered up my gall and wit,
And I put them all to use.
It took everything I had,
And all I said was, “I’m not through.”
All I said was, “I’m not through.”
By the house we both remember,
Buried voices, buried fangs.
Then left us each with our own misfortunes,
To scrub them out like stains.
Then in our fresh attire,
Gather quiet to the meal.
But forks and knives on plates just make
Our troubles far more real.
Forks and knives on plates just make
Our troubles far more real.
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15. |
Our Potions
03:06
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We are stirred into our potions.
We are stirred into the air.
You are sitting on the counter
With your fingers in your hair.
In your long, dark, knotted hair.
In your eyes there is no fire,
Just a faint and endless light.
I could spot you from a mile off
In the dark depths of the night.
On a night not unlike this…
But I’ve come into the notion
That our efforts are misguided;
That the age of spells and poetry
Has in our century subsided,
Into Hades, into History—
Where all things will reside.
By our own stampeding culture,
It’s been trampled, it has died,
Now it is dead.
Oh it hurts me, though I know it to’ve been said.
But you just smile like the wicked
Mischief creature that you are,
And I love you with a lightning
That could start a wooden heart.
Your feet are crossed and swinging,
And you lean in like a wraith,
Whisper in your dry-bone rattle,
“Then we’ve got some dead to raise.”
Some dead to raise!
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16. |
Threads
03:03
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I made a river out of thread.
I tried to sail away, but got tangled up instead.
I don’t know why—
But in my mind, these ideas rising up the chimneys
Then fall out like morning dew.
I don’t know you,
(But I won’t mind.)
I don’t know you, but I’ve got time.
You’re stepping barefoot through the snow,
Then skipping stones across a violent undertow.
Have I slipped in?
But then again, if I could learn to walk through dream-worlds,
Where the shadows drag us fools…
I don’t know you,
(But I could try—)
I don’t know you, but I’ve got time.
And when I’m walking with the Sisters,
Through the yards of quiet graves,
Sometimes the wind shakes my forgetting:
I hear it whispering your name.
I don’t know why…
And when the thunder breaks the cold
Where I’ve been sleeping like a stone,
I see your face carved in the stormfront;
(Coulda sworn it was my own.)
I’ve been alone for all this time…
And then you sweep in like the spring rain,
Clean and knock me from my shoes—
I don’t know you!
(But I won’t mind.)
I don’t know you, but I’ve got time.
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17. |
Telephone
04:53
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On the telephone;
Words slipping through your lips
Like silver glistenings on the limbs of fallen trees.
Angel, please...
Speaking easier, for once,
With words have ever been so blunt
And broken—now you know.
This is how it goes, when it goes.
Sleeping endlessly,
And bathing in the dreams of quiet saviors,
Lost and lonesome in the fields;
Almost real…
But washed in waters cold enough to frost their way
Through molten hearts and crack them wide.
Spilling forth truth and lies,
And all else therein resides.
All else therein resides.
Oh, why am I surprised?
To sit here, steaming in that sweat
Of awful gnawings, clawed and fretting
Over hopeless things.
(Or so it seems.)
You’ll have to hurt for every inch
Across the Earth you scratch and claw your way to Holy Ground—
Well, darling, just come on down;
And down.
(I’m sure we’re still around.)
On the telephone,
Trying, frantic, to find meaning
In the scrambled, panicked beatings of a damaged heart—
And there you are.
Staring, ghostly, through the mirror,
But mostly wishing things were clearer.
At least now we know:
This is how it goes, when it goes.
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18. |
||||
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Awoke in the darkness to the smell of ash.
I am blessed with focus to remember that
I am. And only that I am.
A voice bounds, wild, on the Winter wind;
It strikes my armor like it was flint,
And I am—I am in flames.
And is there one in this city that will know my name?
As I rise from the fire live and born again, again?
Hollow air beneath an icy moon;
I am alive with visions past,
And visions soon to be.
(As we are soon to be.)
Sleeping rooftops fall beneath my wings,
Rising fire inside me—it will be released.
As we are all released.
And is there one in this city who will know our names
As we rise from the fires, live and born again?
As we come to the notion that our hearts are true,
With our wide eyes rolling as we rise anew, anew?
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19. |
November Outro
03:46
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The ice on the trees, and the grey of the skies,
No brighter this morning than it was in the night.
I’m digging for something to make up my mind:
The frost on the leaves, or your hand on my side?
Can’t hide it, no: I won’t find anything in this wintery mist.
I’ll deny it, though—and we’ll leave it at this.
My coffee receipt gets lost on the wind.
In silence, the raindrops start falling again.
My hands turning white, I take a bite of a scone.
I’m heading for home.
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