1. |
Dualism
03:25
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Publicly saving face between balance and praise,
you're a drink from a well that ends in a faint saltwater taste.
I watched it all pass by from the bandwagoner's side,
swearing oaths with the hand that shook-
touching that holy book with your pride.
I'm living off a box of hand-me-downs,
but novelty doesn't dig at me now-
after noting the crashing cash drawer sounds.
I know what I need, and I won't be swayed to sound off anymore.
After pulling the strings from the boards, all I've wanted to do
is to cut those cords;
With a flick of the wrist, light a fire in my chest
so I burn hot, just like a tongue on fire when it tells the truth to a liar.
I've seen this all before, naivety left untamed
claims the vacant seat of a blatantly shady made up game.
It's all the same to me these days-
but novelty doesn't dig at me now,
after noting the certainty I've found
in the wind in the trees and the birds floating by
on that damp warm breeze.
After breathing in time with the source, all I've wanted to do is build more.
"We train and we teach, we walk and we weed."
But our houses still catch fire from the wick on the heart's desire
wrapped around the rotting telephone wires.
This isn't a sales pitch; it should feel more like a well thought-out guilt trip.
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2. |
Line weight
03:21
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I am a red-light beacon in a white night,
riding old routes in between camp sites;
passing by all the city's people buried up to their necks in cement.
In paralysis perusing tempting shiny things,
I somehow found a piece of shrapnel, too, embedded in me.
Despite the old man's war, fight, and jubilee,
in the worst ways, we have eased.
So I gripped those garden shears,
and trimmed my brainstem back to the spine;
in hopes of cherry blossom tops to lure the honey bees from their hives.
I drew a sharp garden spade,
and put it in my weakest side;
and dug up most of the gravel and stone
that cast these wayward roots of mine out of line.
One arm pulling me in, the other pushing out-
it's no mystery, I'm spinning in my own cloud.
From a tortured god the world beamed,
aimless joy and loss of self they deemed me.
"So I cast too, my delusion- beyond man, indeed."
So I gripped those garden shears,
and trimmed my brainstem back to the spine;
in hopes of cherry blossom tops to lure the honey bees from their hives.
I drew a sharp garden spade,
and put it in my weakest side;
and dug up most of the gravel and stone
that cast these wayward roots of mine out of line.
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3. |
Living In A Tidal Wave
03:59
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We heard the birds sing for the first time in a long while,
and the sun dusts off the insides of my eyes.
The lilac locks knock on my second story window,
and it's all pure until the winter splinters it the same.
I watched the sunrise through curtains drawn and the stark pastel colors gently hit your light skin in the dark-
and it's all I want it to be, what else could I be expecting?
You and I will do this dance daily,
until we fold into our next shapes,
and the sound
formulates our fates,
once our feet touch the ground.
I'm not scared, but I'm not waiting
for someone to notice I live in a tidal wave.
I know I spend all my time away;
I'm grounded still, but I like the taste
of every direction being one to take.
I have this perception of some lines drawn in the sand,
complex enough and warm to the touch- to assume they're drawn by hand.
But, one thing I don't see is footprints pressed in neatly,
so who the hell is playing in our world,
Spelling out these nonsense words by the lake
in the dirt, just for fun?
Do that dance for it's own sake,
then modulate back to one.
I'm not scared, but I'm not waiting
for someone to notice I live in a tidal wave.
I know I spend all my time away;
I'm grounded still, but I like the taste
of every direction being one to take.
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