1. |
Welkin
03:37
|
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|
The earthbound poets in their libraries
and the shelters of the desert-buried ships.
What to do if the fishers start falling,
and the firmament peeks through the day?
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2. |
Kingfisher
03:43
|
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|
"Oh, I understand your halcyon days, dear Kingfisher!"
I wanted to shout, but by now my mouth was comet fodder.
I rubbed my eyes 'til they rusted to static -- a busted schematic.
I lulled the dryads 'til they lost their fantastic, like lust fed erratic.
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3. |
Dust, Steam, Iron
00:48
|
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|
It’s just then that the world quits its spinning,
and the folks who didn’t bolt themselves down
are shoot-the-moon missiles, shooting.
Their water is going to comet trail auburn, and they’ll learn:
they were always just lovely dust, steam, and iron.
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4. |
Tisza
02:49
|
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5. |
Alef
06:28
|
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|
Alef's all alabaster and abalone;
with a stalactite cane that's done depositing.
He's waxed so old and alone and lonely,
and can't care to stir from his recollecting.
"You've got sand stuck in your seashell skin,"
Ambition admonishes, her hollow finger swinging.
"You've faltered so far, you can't say how beneath you've been."
Though any struggle could just spur the sinking sand to its
quickening.
Alef's all antlion and acrimony;
carved out a cave that keeps collapsing.
He's unfolded so furled and furrowed and phony,
and can't keep from the fear of asphyxiating.
"You've got faults flowing through and through your form,"
Admission acknowledges, her heavy nature shifting.
"But fate still says you're worthy and swore
you can be everything in addition to what you're
discerning."
Alef!
Here's her hand and take some breath.
She’s been counting what you're made of,
and there's still so much left.
Alef!
Take her hand and here’s some breath.
You should be leaving what you’re counting,
while there’s still some time left.
He runs a hand along a crack and sighs;
how the left split from the ribs on the right.
He raises an arm to overcast his eyes;
halcyon litter sieved from the river beside.
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6. |
Lie Still, Monsters
02:33
|
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7. |
Northwind Plain
01:00
|
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8. |
Beneath the Bridges
01:42
|
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|
Cold as Greeley,
like an extra winter,
thinking of what it'll be like afterward,
thinking back.
Oh, Madison.
We're all huddling, hurrying
beneath the bridges, burrowing.
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9. |
December Pensive
04:57
|
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Anatole Underwater Portland, Oregon
Anatole Underwater is the chronicle of a one-man ballooning expedition above the Arctic Ocean seeking a shipwrecked urban ruin. It is also the story of a girl made of corundum and ram horns, toppled against the fable of a church minister who steamed tea for the snow monster's ghost. A timeworn account, chiseled into fossilized araucaria, deciphered and translated, then chorded, arranged, and sung. ... more
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