white sky
violent light
cracking thunder
dripping brick
and i miss you
tephra falls hard
old memory magma
still out runs me


head fills up bravely
your green boots
your open eyes
phone glaring me down
and - get to the basement
no, run to the sea
sail . . .
down . . .
round. . .
. . . OUT

this doesnt matter

the universe is cycling

even within lifetimes

we live hundred lives a decade

forget a hundred days an hour

remember three days a year:

does the universe cast a single shadow?

firmly stated

torn jeaned

 hungry tongued

and a blue black eye

matter is finite

energy is finite
our mother's ovaries are barren

(but) :

a batted ball lands lightly

sucked back to its home

is picked up

tossed in the air

swung at

and flies again

at Some Point In Time

(and again and again and again - repeat x ∞)

supposedly earnest meet n greets abound now.

lets share in good cheer:
please be sure to drink a beer
to forget the approaching fear
of the swiftly setting sun.

the swiftly setting sun does not
pour a glass and judge. Nor does it
run hair through fingers.
Also - it does not run.

_____________

word has it there's product-on the docks that's A-OK:

CheapAsDirtConcentratedLikeRimbaudandDrake;
this is That Richard Pryor Shit:

shit'll leave you charred and naked
won't even know you're fakin' it.

unwrap the package trancing
rewrap with a bow 'n ribbons
floated the chaser now
washing your hands crying
______________

scream and laugh of golden tickets and parachutes

sit and hope of pie and sidewalks

the curtain is open
the stage is empty
the lights are out
a packed house sits
with a child's rapture:

art runs away from c-sections and birthdays but-but-but-but
i cant find bees nests to shake
drip, drip lay me down in orange wool
under the sun's sink, strap me down
you've killed all the bees
we've killed all the bees
the bitter is bitterer -- we-we-we-we
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
michelin raincoats adorn the naked
fresh pale flesh lies dormant
the seedlings of humanity
green rusted soul gardeners dream
fingertipping the reaper
their heavy hoe weighs down
lusting for rain and sun in tune
shit eating veggies on mom's bread

athena's buffet's a dream and how
does a dream stop driving the hearse

Thom Yorke on "Street Spirit (Fade Out)

Street Spirit (Fade Out) - Glastonbury 2003

"'Street Spirit' is our purest song, but I didn't write it.... It wrote itself. We were just its messengers... Its biological catylysts. It's core is a complete mystery to me... and (pause) you know, I wouldn't ever try to write something that hopeless... All of our saddest songs have somewhere in them at least a glimmer of resolve... 'Street Spirit' has no resolve... It is the dark tunnel without the light at the end. It represents all tragic emotion that is so hurtful that the sound of that melody is its only definition. We all have a way of dealing with that song... It's called detachment... Especially me.. I detach my emotional radar from that song, or I couldn't play it... I'd crack. I'd break down on stage.. that's why its lyrics are just a bunch of mini-stories or visual images as opposed to a cohesive explanation of its meaning... I used images set to the music that I thought would convey the emotional entirety of the lyric and music working together... That's what's meant by 'all these things are one to swallow whole'.. I meant the emotional entirety, because I didn't have it in me to articulate the emotion... (pause) I'd crack.... Our fans are braver than I to let that song penetrate them, or maybe they don't realize what they're listening to.. They don't realize that 'Street Spirit' is about staring the fucking devil right in the eyes... and knowing, no matter what the hell you do, he'll get the last laugh...and it's real...and true. The devil really will get the last laugh in all cases without exception, and if I let myself think about that too long, I'd crack. I can't believe we have fans that can deal emotionally with that song... That's why I'm convinced that they don't know what it's about. It's why we play it towards the end of our sets. It drains me, and it shakes me, and hurts like hell everytime I play it, looking out at thousands of people cheering and smiling, oblivious to the tragedy of it's meaning, like when you're going to have your dog put down and it's wagging it's tail on the way there. That's what they all look like, and it breaks my heart.




I wish that song hadn't picked us as its catalysts, and so I don't claim it. It asks too much. (very long pause). I didn't write that song."

pleasantries with secretaries
on phones for mere seconds
are the sail and the wind
hope is for children and sailors

Persephone's Archaic Smile

the sun's shine bores you
and it's the rain that raps
on your window at night hangs
rope we'll climb down into
obliviating foxhole raves
glow in the dark people bring smiles

but the sun will come to outshine you
as your skin frays and falls
the tailor you knew once
has gone far far away to build
a castle whose motes have motes
can only scrawl and wave, tap and hope

with you under their shoulder
with you in the bottle
hands upon hands will hold you
they'll cross the gobi
theyll piss you out some morning after
when they're sandy, done and dying

:

oh persephone
taken in a field naked and alone
oh persephone
your stone smile isn't really laughing
oh persephone
fleeting and blurry is all we have here
oh persephone
come and rise again
oh persephone
run back, it's only dusk