I'd like to be quiet with you
not say three words
sprawled out quilts
on the floor
my hand on your neck
your fingers in my hair
we'd pretend to be asleep
at some point
but there would be no sleep
it would be like driving a car
fast through a hypnotic desert
it would be like bluegrass
like the way you want to scream sometimes
You may not remember the day I leaned over and kissed you softly
on the side of your face,
but I do.
I told you that love was everywhere in the world.
I whispered that it was essentially littering the landscape and you just had to
open up your mouth, turn your body toward it. Raise your hands.
I'm sure it sounded like a thing people say while drinking ales.
I'm sure I sounded bold.
People just know things,
like how to handle snakes,
set fire to love.
I just know about love.
I see it all around you like a flame
we all throw ourselves at the target
the brilliant shining spot we wish we could understand
we are all the same
and you make me
like a neon sign
My mouth is a star. It shines on you like a projector, extensive catalogues of my affection hang in the air between us.
From this guy. Lizzie of Earwig. They are pretty awesome.
I've always wanted to write a song and it's time to learn.
I feel like it's stretching my writing in a new way.
I've been collecting words.
Lots of them.
Eavesdropping on people and writing down the things they say to each other.
It's wild what we just say in the world.
People are communicating and dangerous and open all around you if you just listen.
I hope by the end of summer to record a song with Lizzie.
Earwig will have a new album out soon. It's exciting.
This is an older song from Earwig. It had a lot of radio play.
I wish I could meet this Ron House fellow.
He sounds so interesting.
Sometimes he is referenced in Bela's amazing story filled blog.
Sometimes I think there should be a big, fat novel written about the Columbus, Ohio music scene.
Anyhoo, make sure to follow Lizard on Twitter.
And be excited for a song. Soon. xxxxx
I would do those things
you think about
under the safe blanket of thought
on the inside
I would do those things
because I can see through walls
all the way to the other side
where your brain is on fire
I'm your superman
don't let it scare you
Parked car in driveway.
Neil Young pours from the radio.
The windows of the house are lit like fire
and we sing softly to each other.
Our voices harmonize out of habit.
We sing at car windows, our mouths moving.
If it were winter, we would fog it up.
I’ll baptize you
pray for you
whatever you need
don’t you know what
you are are to me
like a diamond in the sky
the whole sky
a fat moon
the smell of fire
we walk and talk of your
great perfect sadness
the one you carry
like stones in your blue jeans
like heavy coats
misunderstood street signs
when you hold me
I feel the weight
I stop at the river and take off all my clothes. I jump in and pretend that my eyes are cameras. That my fingers are microphones. I take the history of this place. I pull myself up to the bank and my fingers bury into the Ohio mud. I trust this mud, it's been here for years.
This is what life does. It lets you walk up to
the store to buy breakfast and the paper, on a
stiff knee. It lets you choose the way you have
your eggs, your coffee. Then it sits a fisherman
down beside you at the counter who say, Last night,
the channel was full of starfish. And you wonder,
is this a message, finally, or just another day?
Life lets you take the dog for a walk down to the
pond, where whole generations of biological
processes are boiling beneath the mud. Reeds
speak to you of the natural world: they whisper,
they sing. And herons pass by. Are you old
enough to appreciate the moment? Too old?
There is movement beneath the water, but it
may be nothing. There may be nothing going on.
And then life suggests that you remember the
years you ran around, the years you developed
a shocking lifestyle, advocated careless abandon,
owned a chilly heart. Upon reflection, you are
genuinely surprised to find how quiet you have
become. And then life lets you go home to think
about all this. Which you do, for quite a long time.
Later, you wake up beside your old love, the one
who never had any conditions, the one who waited
you out. This is life’s way of letting you know that
you are lucky. (It won’t give you smart or brave,
so you’ll have to settle for lucky.) Because you
were born at a good time. Because you were able
to listen when people spoke to you. Because you
stopped when you should have and started again.
So life lets you have a sandwich, and pie for your
late night dessert. (Pie for the dog, as well.) And
then life sends you back to bed, to dreamland,
while outside, the starfish drift through the channel,
with smiles on their starry faces as they head
out to deep water, to the far and boundless sea.
I dreamt that you took your hands and covered me in joy. The moon was high and we were in a garden shed. My hands shook. I asked you to tell me all the true things you ever knew. Just put me back together. It's spring. The earth will know what to do with me. I don't know how my garden grows.
like a tin can telephone
your voice travels to me
sweet and clear like true love
like teenage hearts
like bird songs
I am your mama
your love bomb
your rock and roll
your Saturday night
I want to spend days
counting the hairs
on your head
weeks memorizing the
exact timbre of your baby voice
years listening to you
say my name
there is a map to the end of the world
to the place where we die without remorse
or still sadness
and the key
live in the mouth of a child
in the short space of the place
we call home
there's most likely a place to go
where we know all the math
how to spell everything
words just fall from our lips
whirling dervishes of the perfect
everything is so fine and other affirmations are pumped through speakers
you sit on a stool by my desk
and read to me
the sun slices through sheer curtains
I read that Anne Sexton said,
"Poetry led me by the hand out of madness."
she killed herself but for a bit she sailed on and lived in this place I bet
she knew how to get there
where the key hung
the price you'd have to pay