19 Oct

Sufjan Stevens – All The Trees Of The Field Will Clap Their Hands

Every time the curtains rise,
she sings her haunting melodies.
The ground bucks up and sinks the seas,
moon pulls thin air and drops the tides.

The seasinks of green and grey,
painting dizzy headlight canopies.
Turquoise canyons crash upon their knees.
The seasinks grin a grin and say

“Goodbye to you my frivolous friend,
You breathless observer, never a participant,
I leave the rigs to their haughty chant.
Their fog horns rowdier than an elephant.”

Curtains close and I feel ill.
Shrimp and crabs softly murmuring
patiently awaiting the coming seasings
and once turbid waters stand serene and still.

image: mechkad

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