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CUSP

by THRUSH

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1.
BASTION 05:06
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.
2.
05-29 01:37
3.
THREADBARE 04:03
“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.
4.
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
5.
It spoke of the cruel, of the false, of the adrift. Dismal days have arrived with a familiar face.
6.
AN APERTURE 04:51
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.
7.
8.
TO CODA 03:39
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.”

about

Thrush is

Alex Talbot
Gregory Manson
Joey Cronvich
Michael Karayane
Jason Meserole

credits

released February 2, 2019

Cover photo by Romi Voorhies
Recorded by James Whitten

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all rights reserved

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THRUSH New Orleans, Louisiana

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