1. |
puritan
03:59
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Cruel cowardice. Cruise, cower, piss. Shit where you sleep as your pores and wounds weep. In contempt for being blessed. Undressed and in duress to pay for power over death. Call it man, call it human in thanks for release. Fine fingered sheath. Cut. Sinewed beneath. Cut. Cold, hemic meat wrapped tight in white sheet. Cut. Sickle slide slick through your glutted elite gut. Chew glass. Choke down words like wine turned, blood like brine. More weight. The burden belies your brittle old spine. The trial you've craved for your era of hate. A public's applause as they empty your plate, every last one of them screaming "more weight."
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2. |
overgrowth(redux)
03:09
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Can I find myself prepared? Wilted pages and blank stares. Wistful words and ill-fated remedies. Daily burden of waiting to wake. To sleep, to dream. Mistakes, mistakes. And yet stillness under pillows and sheets. Flesh pressed on flesh to sweat and seep. And I drip cold and warm beneath. Keep me calm, I shake and shake. Tearing from feeling and fetid roots. Bestial blemish of eroded youth. Look above, I am known; seeking out someone to blame. Pull the plug, cast me out between sacred and profane.
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3. |
inorganic
04:43
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Frantic. Famished. Frayed cord panic. Home in a hole. Head hang hands like a hammock. Cleanliness to godliness. Symphony strings sing failure angelic. Holy like empty. Open arms, open sky. Life and unlife; rapturous, divine. Still reaching back. Bending backwards. Guilt like grit, essence impure. Urged on single-minded unsociability. Learning to love without circumstance. Learning to love without consequence. Learning to love at all. Finding being beyond brilliance. Dragging all sagging skin from the dais. Reverent. Profound. Keeping all eyes and ears to the ground. An eternity. Mundaneity. Another adage for an older age. Simple repetition like proverb. Follow in chains from print to page. Fear unfathomed and sight unseen. Heart deep impurity. Herd speak scalding. Longing for comfort without question. An older age. Craving ghosts like corners. Most like mourning. Wake from morning. Overindulging and under-performing. Again and again with this tedious chant. I want to believe, but I can't.
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