Tracks

New music for the week:

Surfer Blood - "Astro Coast"
Surf rock, an attempt to drive the cold weather from this Michigan mind.

The Left - "Gas Mask"
Amazing Detroit hip-hop.  Old-school production, meaningful words.

Tracks

I laid down upon the railroad tracks

Shaking with the rumble, moving like

The pebbles piled around me

And stared into the sky,

Giving up my vigil to see the silver linings
And knowing for once the real clouds,
The grey mass pressing me

Into the cold steel rails on my back,
Molding me into that human machine,
Spitting me into the metallic cogs

Spinning, always spinning with no
Signs of stopping.

The rumble grew close, and it was no
Quick death, the anticipation brimming full
With the collected rips of the silent

Night sky by the wailing.

It was a hollow death, shorn from any meaning,
Mentioned briefly and blown
Into the rustling skirts of time

And lost amongst the many folds.

She once wore a white linen dress.

Now she’s a woman.
She wears a red linen dress,
Eats candlesticks to pass the time,
And spits wax into her lovers’ faces

In the moment of conjoined crisis,
Keeps the molds upon her nightstand,

Faces of momentary rapture,
Separation from the human

In the blinding white of divine.
Her dress kicks up in the breeze,
Revealing soft brown thighs,
Herself a flower standing taller

Than the other plants in the golden
Summer field.

She lights a small fire in her palm
And sticks it in her mouth,
Chewing the warmth and feeling

It spread into her stomach.

She flicks a fly from her shoulder
And it lands legs up on long cold steel.

It does not fly away.