1. |
Root up the Blessing
04:48
|
|||
|
I saw the old enemies
drinking hot milk,
making lifeless love,
thereβs no way out.
Mother weeps no more
quietly on the porch.
Words lighten the blood
on my shoes.
Root up the blessing,
my eye does justice.
The rest of the sleep
turns clockwise.
I coshed you
with shadow stone
on which I wrote
my will.
|
||||
2. |
Dry Grief
04:35
|
|||
|
Died in a foreign land.
What he left behind
is a cold meal and
smell of confined
air and ache rest in repeating.
Hatred of mirrors begun in breeding.
The skinβs not mine.
The skinβs not mine.
These hands have been marked
by dry grief and seared harm.
These hands will ruin their own shades.
A common dirt, a proper shame.
Milk and coal stained my toothless, open smile.
Your anger pulled me out from that old womb.
Iβm a gift of an accidental lie,
a useless waste what we make when we create.
I spit in the lock and the knob turns.
Got the mail from the ministry:
βHow shall we get said what must be said?
Sadly, this is your family.β
Inherited.
Life is like crushed apples
in the backyard.
The lines of our bones
end here.
|
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3. |
An Army on Paper
04:35
|
|||
|
Inescapable.
I lay my spirit at your feet.
Iβm a building block
of your empire.
The river ate the light.
The soilβs gaping.
Lines are circles now.
I drop my gray hair
into the mire.
There will I build up my own,
my own kinship.
I built my own walls to hide,
a well made stonework,
a piece of pure masonry.
Please omit the word exile.
I am home now.
The power in me crushed out.
An army on paper.
You feed me with dead grass.
I am not your servant.
|
||||
4. |
Hypersea
04:59
|
|||
|
Early morning call another insurance
but the call came from inside the house.
A usual little breathing on the line
itβs just been me dialing myself.
Unrelated talk
about my health issues.
Protein rules the cells:
cancer is like lottery.
I got the news in a fine rain.
Yet itβs hard to explain
why I did not worry.
You always say you protect me from
nature but cells are keep growing
even if you praise their secrecy.
A chapter that no one reads
as the plot is over.
A calm kept secret
that has never been told.
This is you.
Hurt and hate go hand in hand
and once the storm
turns into gold.
Thereβs no dial tone.
(Iron hand in a velvet glove.)
Mouth filled with foam.
(A bite to the tip of the tongue.)
|
||||
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