backed into a corner of the gray
I was witness as the shapes were
born and began to masquerade
as themselves, in and out of place
nostalgia come to die, gone and erased
leaving only the blankest white space-
tell me, tell me, what was it you said
as the shadows caught, and the light
was chased?
didn’t I didn’t I didn’t I didn’t I say it,
(no, I misheard you- again)
“my head// is still // spinning//
from the real.”
nothing is sacred.
bring me to the lake
we will all settle
into our old ways
the ripple will trickle
the air will debate
and I will dance
or drown as it
takes its shape.
an ex of mine used to
spell satan with an I,
making it satin. I thought it
fine, fitting, for the form
to lie. the syntax made sense
here, she far from shy
the tears in her nylon
sent the seams running
and these pressing matters
skim her second skin
letting its satin sinews
stretched and strangling-
as the red revealed beneath
was a coffin where I would sleep
one last nail dug in
a rude wake, a dying breath-
satan staining her dress.
(but all the same, it sounded from
her mouth in a single gasp
before she had taken the next.)
Brand new song from Freemason! Preview of a new track from debut album, ‘Blood and Wine’, available this July!
another album preview- vocals are almost completely done for the album! this one’s called “Two By Fours”. Enjoy!
call it not love,
such has been spoken for-
it is not enough.
love has travelled centuries
spilling from the lip of one
sage’s slippage to another.
the romantic’s rites have been read-
it has lain on tongues unworthy
to gather in pools of spit
as the blood has rushed to the head-
swapped between the mouths
of those who know not
the meaning of it;
but merely passed and exchanged in the hands
of those who have shook them
or wrung them in the kissing rounds of their reprimand-
its truth no longer rings, just the same
it has reflected from the listening walls
pressed with the paper and dust
of pages who pour over their names
and coughing in their history came
upon a phrase uttered here again:
-
call it not love,
it is not as such
to be summed up;
for in its saying
it has said enough-
-
I should rather write it
and in doing so
rewrite it below
from where it was left
above.
Instrumental preview for the track “Black Lungs”! Vocals next week ;)
a woman stands behind
a lamp,
its slender light drips from
beneath its sheltered shade
drawstring hanging
somewhere around her
face,
I left it on during the day
as Yōsei’s orb began to fade
and wrote a trope
in its place.
she once hung behind
the curtain
but they had drawn too close,
(she had never seen so much lace)
but now, in the trick of the light
my hands have contorted spaces
of the shapes in the places she occupies
and when turned out
escape me entirely into the night-
—
as she steps behind the shade
and into the day, it is plain to see:
she is not as I or anyone had made
but of her own, obscured by another’s
gaze.
this is a poem
within a poem:
I am sitting at the writer,
(you know the type)_
you’ll never quite know
what they’ll say next
and neither
do
I
"'I'll love you till the ocean Is folded and hung up to dry And the seven stars go squawking Like geese about the sky."
be my St. Anthony
look for me when
I am lost/:
search me when
I am found.
I have pressed my lip to the stone
I have read the rites aloud
still this chaste belt has whipped
and flogged my forearms for hours-
in the blackest ceremonies
I stood at the altar and begged for bread
as she would stand amidst the gold and flames
and ask for my head-
there has been a reversal instead
as the hymns were made to part
their endings always written at the bottom
of the page, far from where they would start,
the highest notes always curled
upon the ceiling, to hang in rafters and bend-
all sacrifices are null, the cathedral doors
thrown open, set the lambs free
the candles have been snuffed out
the ritual is empty-
(hearing your songs is
like hearing you speak.
I listen when you talk
with me.)
Woody Harrelson,
My little guy :)
I had another date yesterday. And I have many feels. I just don’t know.
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