1. |
BASTION
05:06
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I found comfort in the oncoming white noise. In the backdrop where I laid on top of distance, and its many, many faces. Without a whimper the anguish lingered into the corners of my languid neck. I digested the arrangements of chatter, into the paths where I dissected the lungs of hope, and its misleading names. The precious seconds insisted on trickling further down the dim lit hallways. There is a dent on the bright white door. An encompassing whirlwind ignored, and when you glided through the violent clamor I felt the wilting fingertips once again. Lower your head for the smiling graves, they wait for you and I.
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2. |
05-29
01:37
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3. |
THREADBARE
04:03
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“Here they come; here they come” I screamed at the top of my lungs, as I stood in the middle of a stage. Wilting torso; disfigured arms. For an audience glaring with captivating eyes. “Come one; come all.” Feast your pupils on this trembling skeleton; a collection of borrowed qualms. Given from the crippled palms of those who held a creaky and murky lantern over the unsteady voice hidden within the flesh worn all this time while forgetting. A fool’s crown pressed into my cranium. With irony for the mockery. And there I went headfirst towards the bottom. Sitting impatiently in disbelief as I grabbed them by their jowls. Throwing them as far into the dirt as far as possible, one by one without regret; or a drop of remorse.
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4. |
ATTACHED DETACHED
04:31
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I have returned when the closing doors scratch against my eardrums. When the devouring tones fall in peculiar place. As I linger in the meantime. I have returned; like an insufferable burden. Attached and detached like a persistent drumming. Wandering about; but without an apparent hint. As the malicious sentences pile. I have returned; with a faltered expression to say what I once left unsaid
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5. |
THE OFFERING OF AN IMAGE
02:00
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It spoke of the cruel, of the false, of the adrift. Dismal days have arrived with a familiar face.
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6. |
AN APERTURE
04:51
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Head in the ground, famine filled mouth. The splendor sunk into the heinous sand. Over and across the barrens I followed an echoing chant; a makeshift ballad. It spoke of the cruel, of the false, of the adrift. Dismal days have arrived with a familiar face. Cement conscience; I became a moving statue. Stagnant shame; surrounded by meddlesome sneers. Painting a bitter reflection, for the limbs I left on the shore. Inventing a crumbling portrait, for the language disguised in the passing.
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7. |
WEEPING YAUPON
01:59
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8. |
TO CODA
03:39
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An unfortunate song I sing. Bitter notes; depleting melodies. Leaning on the edge of the worn seat. Fashioned with tiny pieces of a fragmented wit. Vivid scenarios of begrimed patterns waltzed back and forth and I welcomed them into the place where sleep betrayed. With a meager mutter of assent I kept staring into the places I simply couldn’t see. In repetition’s stuttering vision, tell me I’m golden; tell me I’m distinct. I marched with these little legs all the way to the end of the chapter that kept calling my name. “Close the curtains over your retinas once more and I swear you’ll finally see.”
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