1. |
New American Realism
04:05
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the sea didn't rise to a boil
the sky didn't crack open wide
the soil didn't churn beneath us
we just got dead as the sun rose and set
the skin didn't fall off our bones
our tongues didn't cleave in our mouths
our legs didn't break beneath the weight of our guts
our hearts just recorded sounds and pictures
libraries of books didn't eat us alive
the history of fashion didn't scald our eyes
a lake of gin didn't fill our lungs
we buried ourselves in a loam of letters
no eagles rose from the ground
no white whale breached the surface
no fires lit the skies over forests
the earth wasn't freckled with bombs
the children didn't all lose their arms
there was no mutiny of the dead
I just reached the highway's horizon
we would be denied
how could we resist?
shake hands with the highway's horizon
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2. |
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I wasn't born to be no rodeo star
I won't spend my nights in a small-town bar
is that what you call a life?
I'm a new man now but not by much
I may have wrote a book but I can't write home
maybe an impulse complex can lead home
maybe a complex impulse can lead home
I'll bring six silver bullets to your wedding
if you promise you'll come to my wake
I'll make sure to bury your father right
cocksuckers sold us out
there's no way in which this is not a war
"Even war can't light up darkness that's this complete."
-Georges Bataille
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3. |
No Sleep 'til Buffalo
04:01
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we gotta know where we come from
else we'll never get back there again
yes from the earth, yes from the dirt
but just which stretch gave you a name?
it's not like I had a choice
I awoke when the traffic spoke
the bandages swaddled me up
the brick in my mouth stopped the crying
the woods were my first native love
gray branches brittle as sticks
cracked under the weight of my awe
the sky was occluded by their mesh
I had an unborn wish within me
to strike a match and watch it all burn
now that I've groomed an arson's heart
when will I roll in the soot of my hope?
rough mix gravel
spread thin for driving on
upward weeds between dirt tracks
up to the grip of worn blacktop
the end of this road
is a semi-colon
a fork in history
mine and a few others'
bouncing through the mud
in the back of a truck
hold a gun and a dog by the collar
collecting hot brass, clicking in clips
thicks whiffs of saltpeter
this is home too
how Easters were spent
with smoke and fire
so project a video image
of my mother giving birth
you'll see the same face coming out
as this one that wants back in
no sleep 'till Buffalo
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4. |
...And a Cigarette
03:35
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came to kill
(good good god)
we are gathered here to kill
a brute named Bryant
private of the 12th New York
rapist of a spinster and girl
four men's palms may sweat
around their rifles' stocks
but the band knows how to play
"The Dead March" on a dark March day
fold your arms
if you want for comfort
the crash of the volley
will break down that shield
and though killers may weep
at the sight of your corpse
the band wills strike up
a staunchly indifferent tune
Goldsboro men may cheer
songs of Lordly praise
for he showed his hand that day
in the shape of four rifles' smoke
this open field's
newly dug maw
lies open and unmoved
for soil knows the taste of your kind
here's the thing
we could damned the rule of law
handed you over the widows
let them take their loss out on you
you'll get no love
just spun like a marionette
no words from us
no prayer on your behalf
here's what you get:
last words and a cigarette
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5. |
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I don't take the rain for static anymore
just pull the stitches from our safety jackets
bobbing in the waves in the rows and rows of hearts
baby I lost our daughter following boats in the fog
tailored my face to your letters
ground my teeth into the shape of your tongue
listened to your ribcage creaking in triplicate
I could smell our child's death in my lungs
even though you were my favorite ecorche
I can breathe just fine
even though the figure-eight song is ending
I can breathe just fine
we'll have to cut out the root to find the barb of desire
we'll have to cut off our hands to find the blood of abuse
we'll have to remove the head to break the arc of the body
we'll have to break both our legs to stop the march to the lake
we'll have to cut out our hearts to stop the march of our hearts
the end begins within our breath
the end begins with the sound of a dead bird hitting the ground
because we dissolved the sky
no such thing as the sky
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