Added: Jan 15, 2012

From: TigrisandEuphrates

Duration: 6:5

Every day of my life wakes-up and unfolds like a present exposed, a gift of silver and gold bells tied to the tail of a trundling hearse another relative verse. Generations buried by words. Time catches-up to the front runner then trips him,. this place is a tenement, split or play the victim Get out of dodge if you value your life. Food courts and aisles of light. The mountains of white bloom on the horizon, it's as if every cloud came straight down, sky crushed, steel and bricks and each city upturned like ships torn hull from stern caught in a rip-current. Like a load-bearing back spurned it stands stabbed, attacked by a confidence earned. With the grid gone, technology starts to look absurd. A blank wide-screen t.v. In an empty house surrounded by furniture. Events overlap and then replace each other, as in "history is written by the loudest survivors" a carving knife cut out a heart in a forest of timber collapsed, near a cattle call chorus of wild bovine, dairy cows on the range horizon so strange, dust that clouds the sun's rays, irradiated fruit in a broken down market display. An apple missing two bites, two mouths gone, small, astray. The sheet of a signal draws a wall o're the sky a drone gets the okay from another fall-guy paid to settle scores racked up before he was born. to drop a new landscape, a megaton forced blinding white walls of mountains, level streets full of houses, offices, cubicles, business cards, desks with framed spouses who watch the collapse with a smile out of time. Glassy-eyed, nobody's pictures survive. Oh trajectory slung, ax head hung, handle swung at the knees of an apple tree bowed. A forefather denies that he snuffed out the life cell walls tear apart, body fall down. To the edge of the woods, pent up wilderness herds, bow their heads, prairie graze with tongues fat in their mouths. Men bleach blood from corrals in a warehouse, scrub out all the stalls for the next nervous crowd. To feed a city that breathes to the marching drum's beat like a heart empty, strike the cured skin. A vessel that built itself, centuries old, wound tighter with each immigrant. I get cyclical, stuck in my thinking a bit, on the way from one point to the next. Tired on the train, tied to tracks with no breaks, a round-trip, future came and went. Time catches up to the con-man and then gyp's him, this place is irrelevant, broken or fixed it's still metro-policy by-the-books crack the whip then pro sports on LCD screens looking like real life. the mountains of white bloom on the horizon, it's as if every cloud came straight down, sky crushed, steel and bricks and each city upturned like ships torn hull from stern, processed by time's curse, another relative verse. Generations buried by words. Moving pictures cribbed from archive.org, Hiroshima/Nagasaki state-sponsored Japanese film

Channel: Music

Rating: 5.0' max='5' min='1' numRaters='1' rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#overall ( ratings)    Views: 79    Comments: 0