1. |
Sick With Bloom
07:16
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I walk beside a manmade pond
With sloping walls
Sick with bloom
To cut the nausea of the carpet slick
They placed six spotlights
Dimly shining
Making amber of the brine
Black seeds and blinded shrimp
Held in the cones
I dreamed of true magnetic north
The water drained
Black boulders shone like greased backs
The draping skin
A muscle twitch
A fish would crawl out of its scales
To break the skin on the pond
To cut the nausea of the carpet slick
Instead of standing dimly on the wall
Magnetic north is pounding in my ears
True north is somewhere deep inside the amber cones
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2. |
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Forty yards of clearing
Kept the houses from the pines
Each day the village heat was drawn
And spread to cool
And even at eight bells I saw that night was forming
Rags and strings and strips of shade
Were lowered like a curtain at midday
The stiffness of wet burlap
And the nagging of the torrent
Hissing somewhere underground
I know it very well
For I am drawn and spread
Yes, streaming from the undergrowth
Night arrived in search of me
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3. |
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A shifting boulder pierced my side
When I was young
And I let silence
Sour
Hot
Pinch powder into seeds
Inside the black box
When I woke up
The patch of skin was new
Sewn up with glass
The winter
Livestock tried to scream
I bled
I faked it
Stole the coat from him
Bore tunnels
Couldn't keep her
Never found the inlet in the lake
Looked up when there was darkness in the hall
A copper stain had shrouded me
In blue and red and green
The colors of the earth, but more serene
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4. |
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The mangrove, the preserver, holds its tongue
As flashlight cones are whimpering
And twitching like a hand
Sighing without sound or light
The dense lungs of the waterline
Where flatness asks the water in
To fall through lit rafters
Spearing like a shiv of dust
To meet it, the preserver
Which is mangrove here but winter there
Do not probe your fearfulness and pride
Just try to shimmer by
Without a look into the pit
On your way to Dresden on a train
Your luggage close
Your bulging gut that's rooted through
With hairline strands of thread and loam
It wants it
The smell of mud
Through the cold glass with one small scratch
The mangrove, the preserver, holds its tongue
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5. |
Fallen Snag
05:54
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On the flats
The fever yields
There isn't any wisdom left
I'll build a barn and watch it mold
How sulfur sours Greenland's breath
I thought the elders leaning in
Had maps, kinetics, ancient bole
But now I see their wooden faces
Moaning
Lined with dusk and pale
Beholden to an early song
Still coiled on the rotten mother's meal
And as the pine becomes the snag
The evening widens
Clear
Unkind
Don't leave me on the flats
The fever yields
There isn't any wisdom left
I'll build a barn and watch it mold
How sulfur sours Greenland's breath
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6. |
Ice in the Spring
08:35
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It was night above
But yellow at the rim
My last days here were spent
Raising the fence
To keep the glow from seeping in
Beyond the gate
I knew the crystal chandelier
Had released its spokes into the watercourse
The cathedral in the fog unmanned
The sunken meadow with no guilt
Began to ache
But in my last days here
I locked the gate
And turned the mirror
So that the silver side was looking at the paint
It was night above
But yellow at the rim
There is ice in the spring
There is ice in the spring
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Yellow Eyes New York, New York
sibirrecords.com
Twitter: @SibirRecords
Instagram:
@yelloweyesband
Booking: yelloweyesband@gmail.com
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