1. |
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If my heart pumps blood through my veins...
If my eyes turn light into sight…
If it still hurts touching the oven at work…
Why do I feel dead?
Everything twitches that should. All of my reflexes flex.
I still crane my neck when I light cigarettes.
I’m worried that you’re nearby and you’ll see.
But you’re not, so I heave thunderclouds from my lungs.
No, you’re not, so I shoot coal smoke from my nose.
I stay awake until five. I guess I’m alive, although I feel dead.
Atlas don’t scoop his own food. My paychecks ain’t cashing themselves.
If I’m dead and gone, how’d the laundry get done?
I feel a heartbeat, but I don’t know whose.
Small signs of life rinse across all the surfaces in my apartment 2A.
The toothbrush is wet. There’s crust on the towels. Somehow the bed is made.
I feel a heartbeat but I don’t know whose. I feel a heartbeat but I don’t know whose.
I stay awake until five. I guess I’m alive.
You’re gone. I’m dead.
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2. |
Dark Meat
05:01
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My baby loves dark meat. That’s why I love her.
My baby loves the night sky covered up in clouds.
She loves my heartbeat underneath the covers; her breath, her face, calms me down.
I’ve got a brain that moves too fast.
I’ve got a head that can’t sit still.
But my baby - she keeps a hand on my back.
We keep each other's hearts…
Filled to the brim like a happy jug of whiskey;
like a small pine box bearing a fat man.
We keep our mouths, our hands, filled up with each other.
Me and my baby have an understanding…
No one throws a no hitter on purpose.
The pitcher’s arm is graced by Grace herself.
No one throws a no hitter on purpose.
The pitcher’s arm is graced by Grace…
It’s a miracle:
I can breathe without thinking;
that my body burns when I bike in the cold;
my body absorbs what I put inside it;
my fingers grip what I’d like them to hold.
Hold on! Clare, hold on!
All the things that keep me breathing are the same that keep her breathing, so when one of us runs out of breath the other can breathe for us.
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3. |
Don't Give Me a Pet
03:02
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Don’t give me a pet, I’ll kill it.
Don’t give me a pet, I’ll kill it.
I’ll kill it by accident.
An accident of inattention.
I’ll soak up the faces of a thousand strangers.
For all the hours days have I’ll soak up their faces.
And their shoes.
I like watching shoes.
Don’t make a date with me, I’ll miss it.
Don’t make a date with me, I’ll break it.
I’ll break it by accident.
An accident of inattention.
And yet…
I sweat right through the mattress recalling what happened
To the squirrel who ditched the sidewalk for to try his hand at traffic.
An accident of inattention.
But the crow picking his eyeball is attentive as can be.
Here I sit some asshole who can’t remember to breathe.
Or how to get to work on time. Did I set my alarm?
How did I get to work on time? Did I set my alarm?
Soaking up the faces of a thousand strangers.
For all the hours days have I soak up their faces.
Sweat right through the mattress recalling what happened.
Soaking up the faces of a thousand strangers.
Soaking up the faces of a thousand strangers.
Sweat right through the mattress recalling what happened.
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4. |
Austin Holly
04:47
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Holly. Why don’t you call me? Why don’t you toss me a line? I’m trying not to come on so strongly that it’s easy to tell: you stay on my mind.
I’d like to come down to Texas. I’d like to kiss you again. I’d like to bumble around Austin holding your hand.
But to leave I’ll need to hear you say you’ll receive me over a receiver pressed to my ear...
Holly, I’d like you to call me.
I can think of several reasons why I shouldn’t come and see you. Then the picture of you dancing makes those reasons seem so small and far away.
Holly, I’d like you to call me.
Holly! Oh why don’t you call me?
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5. |
L.T.L.
05:07
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This isn’t I love you so that you’ll stay. This is I love you so you’ll know I do. I’m still slamming Yuenglings just as fast as I can crack them back. The lager is still sweet so I know you’re not an ingredient. This beer hasn’t soured; it hasn’t turned desperate. I’m sad that you’re gone, but I’m calm. There’s no “yet'' after desperate.
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6. |
Fear on Pine Street
03:03
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Katie, I’m sorry I keep falling down. I’d like to stand strongly but I don’t know how. I stumble, I sway, like a drunk circus clown instead of holding your hand. Instead of taking a breath and then saying “yes”. Katie, I’m sorry I keep falling down.
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7. |
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Rabbits prefer burrows under a blueberry bush. I know it sounds like whispering, but there are no secrets between trees. They’re just sharing the breeze.
Newts are envious of sparrows. Sparrows are jealous of squirrels. Owls respect foxes. Most moss is calm. Eagles are not proud. Eagles are vain.
Every pine that sheds a needle feels like a parent stitching quilts. Mosquitos love water only when water is still and sad. Badgers are the proud ones.
These are the secrets of the forest. Do not write them down! We are not supposed to know these things and it’d be best not be found out.
Katie, you’re a part of me. Your eyeballs work remarkably. I trust you implicitly. I knew you’d find these facts most interesting.
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8. |
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Lash me down. Secure my place. Invent new knots if it takes that. Accumulate enough weight that sand relents beneath my feet.
Each word is hard to choose. That’s why I do not travel well in groups.
If choice is real and not a scam, then how am I not a monument? Brass plaque screwed beneath my chest. Words embossed that I can read, off the lips of a reverent audience, to recall (each time I forget) who, and where, and when, and why I am.
If I could be a pretty thing, a hunk of Bismuth I would choose. The corners make it hard to roll out; the colors make it hard to lose myself.
Each word is hard to choose. That’s why I do not travel well in groups.
Splash me down. Keep me wet. If I dry out then I will die. My skin will crack. My blood will seep. And there I’ll be: dry and dead. If that happens my mortal coil will be spoiled by the wind. I’ll be blown back to the places I have been. I’ll be carried home.
Each word is hard to choose. That’s why I do not travel well in groups.
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9. |
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All the good times are past and gone. All the good times are over. All the good times are past and gone. Little darling, don’t you weep no more.
I wish to the Lord I’d never been born, or died when I was young. Never would have seen your sparkling blue eyes or heard your lying tongue.
All the good times are past and gone. All the good times are over. All the good times are past and gone. Little darling, don’t you weep no more.
Can’t you see that turtle dove flying from pine to pine? Mourning for his own true love, just like I mourn for mine.
All the good times are past and gone. All the good times are over. All the good times are past and gone. Little darling, don’t you weep no more.
Come back, come back my own true love. Spend a little while with me. If ever I’ve had a friend in this world, you’ve been a friend to me.
All the good times are past and gone. All the good times are over. All the good times are past and gone. Little darling, don’t you weep no more.
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Owen FitzGerald Raleigh, North Carolina
Southern Gothic alt-folk from central NC.
Happy sleepy cat.
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