Probably something about hands again

9 Jan

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Michael Homnick – Moment

I’m going to blend, because the rest is blended. Only known because I’d descended, amended and transcended. Soon I’ll have those old man hands. Finger flexation result of a thought’s creation to end destination.
I’m going to blend the thing I lost and the thing I’d condemned. A long struggle come to an end.
But in the end, what will I defend?
What is false and what is true? The things in cinemas, what is staged and what is us? The difference between Lake Quinault and Las Vegas.

Same ideas, same old loops.
What’s the difference between me and you?
In between dragons and rains, remember?
I sewed seeds for complex floodplains.
I’m a new man of a different age.

Image by Pocket Images

New New Ceremony

8 Dec

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Harmonics – Gareth Dickson

Wrapped in the blanket we wove,

we’re waiting out the storm.

Sand sleet whips at windows worn.

The sands of time will eat our love.

The first tear in the fur of a bear

only after we’re bones and a pile of hair.

Thunder.

We witness the mixture of sediment.

And the ceremony is grand,

but love isn’t sand

and the process loses it’s target sentiment.

All we have is this wind.

We’re going to keep each other warm.

We cant protect from all these elements.

But we’ll leave this earth in finer form.

image:Mihai Balan

With my eyes closed, close my eyes.

17 Nov

Walk With Me – Moby

You’re all elbows and I was the soda machine,

dishing out what everyone needs,

the basket weaver ran back to the trees, and

I’m alright.

I didn’t buy cause there wasn’t bait.

He’s making these things that he hates

well it shows and you know what?

I hate them too.

Or that’s an idea from long ago,

tangled in the lost and forgot.

In this hail I love you more.

contrast wild like storm and stable ground.

A newborn and ghost.

I’ll keep you warm and an eye on the stove.

I hope there are no spirits.

Because if these dreams of mine are signs,

then who knows if I’ll see another winter.

and if there are no spirits,

I’ll build a house with you in it.

Somewhere unfinished

21 Aug

Portland Cello Project – Please Leave a Light On

Your impossible heart, it’s soft pace.

Strings of your hair don’t fade from my face

when I awake. No more strands of smoke

that fade then flash in crespular strokes

before falling in the grains of shade,

behind the bed where beauty was made.

I’m no stranger to killing in my dreams.

Fire in my heart and steel in my beams.

image: Jesper Hauge

 

I guess it’s been a while.

11 Jul

I want you to know.

You’re not the only one.

I just want you to know.

I’ve cried alone on the porch.

At some point we’ve never felt worse.

Maybe this time,

it won’t take too long.

I hope,

I hope it won’t take too long.

Home is me and home is her.

24 Jun

Safe – Nosaj Thing

These are the lost hands that wrote my future.

The lost feet that are my ship.

Navigator’s lost the compass and we’re unsure,

but I’ll keep these sails taut til they rip.

I breathe in my chest and I shoot from the hip.

 

A world of mistakes are mine to make.

Mine to create.

I shake em loose

and ingest them willingly.

because there’s no soul in living blissfully.

I flee in my rest, and I shoot from my lips.

 

Connor, death is ever present.

every day’s a day gone on.

You’ve still got some time.

Some days to hear death’s song.

 

Sailing’s fine and living is nice and if

nothing’s nothing til I try it

I’ve got play to work

and a song to find it.

 

I teethe at the breast, and I’m food in the crypt.

I peak at the crest, and I sail til they rip.

 

Image – Abri_Beluga

 

Diving

20 May

Mimicking Birds – The Chimney Sweep

 

I slipped fate.

The coarse, rough, and fear

feeling midpoint.

Trampling medians between

The   plunge       and     the  numb.

Some doubt grows and fades.

A dying breath

thick with spit and

maybe this is right.

Maybe I’m comfortable with this.

Or maybe my compass got stuck a long time ago.

Either way I don’t think I’m that OK.

Rebirth.

It takes nine months to come to this.

Every child begins the world again,

to some extent,

and so have I.

And I will not stop dying.

One day The Ship will sail.

And I’ll be on it.

 

image: fiddle oak

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