II. Like a pendulum, hanging feet keep time.

from by montclaire and great friend of mine



Weeks later.

Diving before dreaming.

Sinking between white sheets.

My eyes no longer bright.

I kissed myself.

Holding back my father’s beguiled words.

He told of Evil Kenievel

while my teeth rotted in my careless head.

men without fate

Now my nearsighted eyes close;

I am the age of my mother

when my older sister breathed her first breath.

Too young to know.

How I am that man becoming an armchair—

skin stretched to bone—

the floral print: dyed ash of the dead greats—

their graves screaming

for the life of a new soul,

their tongues hardened

to the words I speak.

How a city roars

while I am back roads

with high beams in my eyes,

set under streaming lights

tinseled across the night’s sky,

summer sweating my bones dry,

and home in the dull eyes

of the bodies laying next to mine—

how alive, O how alive.


from bend you horns​/​swan song, released April 30, 2011



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