All songs. New songs, nameless songs, songs songs songs.

If the black hole targets me again, I'm not human!
And if I'm anonymously ominous to him it's cause I'm not human!
In the snake pipes underneath the drains I'm flowing with the rains.
If I was light through your window at night I would fall on you and watch you change
into a magical cartwheeling radical, the kind I found under bathroom light,
and under blankets where the snake queen of snake dreams makes sounds
like fur
rubbing boxes at night...

If the black hole targets me again, it's cause a star died
and if I'm anonymously ominous to him, it's cause I know why...
On sticky counters, every pound of hers makes a difference to me,
and in the orchards the moonlight makes shadows on her thoughts about me.
One breath of smoke goes and covers up the apples (the fruits from the tree)
The silver light makes tinfoil out of cold snow and the ice looks like mirrors from the sea
But just a shadow I be...

T T cha cha

***

I'll sit alone in the corner, three steps away from the border, I'll give you bread and water if you pretend to be my brother.
How long is this life? How long does it take to build a home out of sticks and stones/shoes by the door? Is it fertile, will it grow, will the lights turn out when we dam the flow?
Is it fertile, will it grow, or will it wilt by the cold window?
I'll sit alone in the corner, three steps away from the border, I'll give you bread and water if you pretend to be my brother.
We make rhythms, we keep time with the chopping block, and nails and tar. When we're done building, how long will we stay until we're blown to another place?
When the city opens arms, my brother's blood is not mine but all of our bodies beat in time.

***
Can't you see over that hill baby? My feet don't stop pounding blood from rock, making pavement out of mountaintop.
Can't you see over that bridge baby? It's where I pound to, it's where I plead relentlessly to be tossed into the stream, relentlessly, to be cast into the sea eventually.
Can't you see, there's no rock baby? If we see colour we're crazy. If we see light? Hallucinating. If we see clearly it's nothing.
But the sun wraps round the belly of the earth til' the grass and birds cry out while giving birth,
and time wraps blankets around you and I so we don't get hypothermia and die,
if you lose yours I'll share mine!
Can't you see over that hill, baby? Ain't it beautiful? Won't you come with me?
Water clean enough to breathe, air clear enough to see starfields...

***

In the spring there's nothing between soft feet and mossy bear droppings,
and in the night there's nothing between the dark and me and my family.

Fifty hours of work inside the bricks with the sinks.
I step on the bug, I flick off the butt, I save the rest cause they'll all be home when I come home,
and they'll be waiting for me to show them what I brought them when I come out of the woods and it'd better be good.
Fifty hours of work- I'm smiling in your coffee, settling for your spare change. This is me older and afraid cause they'll all be home when I come home.

When you're outside lost, it's so easy - you just look out and see the lake.
You look down to it, follow it, swim through it (the land and the lake)
and in the forest there are enough trees to burn forever so you're never cold,
and in the dead of winter the ice auger brings you water so you never thirst,
and in the spring there's nothing between soft feet and mossy bear droppings,
and in the night there's nothing between the dark and me and my family.

***

We built this house in the winter,
slush from our shoes was our main source of water.
We did great things here
Rolled naked in the snow on new year's eve here!
We built this house in the winter,
you clambored raving through the windows-
watched the sun set through a cloud of smoke.
You fought the silence until it finally overcame us,
and when you said that you were a falling leaf in the living room, I believed you.

We built this house in the springtime morning,
I climbed up bruised from the cold floor,
beside the yellow couch where you slept
(where we maintained our surveilled alone-ness).
And when you said that you were a falling leaf in the living room, I believed you.

***
I scratched your name out of my phonebook, messages from my memory, put your name on the list of things bad for me, then I stayed up all night listening to your songs, learning the ones that you told me reminded you of me. I became you and needed some answers. I stayed up all night because it bothered me.
My actions will surely betray me. You're coloured and fascinating. Our silence is a burden. Actions betray that I am uncertain of this that I know won't fail me. Actions betray that I'm uncertain. I dislike the burn but I love the sunshine that I know you are.

***
What would you say son? If the work was all done?
Who would you run to, who would you run with, who would you run from?
If the clouds move away will you still smoke?
If you get paid every week will you still worry?
If the roads are all unpaved will you still drive?
If you have everything you need, will you still buy more?
Will you continue to speak when you're done saying what you're saying?
Will you continue to eat when you're full up?

What would you say, son? As the universe grows, our relative knowledge slows down, our perceptions fade, weaker than the eyes that tell us to change our ways (no! I will not go!). It's safer sitting on this shrinking pile of golden change, golden change. Forty-two hour night days go by, grey and white - the sky gives rain and shadows, and years grow deeper and taller than all of my best friends, and I and them. We are older than each other, we are divided and conquered.

I went down to Nora's house, high on caffeine, cigarettes and beer and we'd drank too much.
I went down to Nora's house, high on caffeine, cigarettes and beer and weed. Drank too much.
What would you say?