1. |
STUNNER-SURPRISE
04:55
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Thin as the legs on a forecast that heads into June,
Stunner-surprise, I reprioritize seeing you
As the comely matador-prince,
Who hasn’t been heard from since,
As a quotient and condition,
The dour disposition of the truth.
Big as the backyard you swore that you kept in your room,
Stunner-surprise, I got snared in your eyes and the fumes.
The tsarevna threw up in the sink,
Head to toe in imitation mink,
As a quotient and condition,
The dour disposition of the truth.
The barricades left London, long ago.
I don’t mean to set you running,
Out of Shoreditch, through the snow.
And every weird suspicion
Gags itself on gardenhose.
I thought we had a good thing going:
Gas-lamp-lighted [sic] TV-shows.
And all my Maltese Bogies
Fuck the facts and chuck the rose.
Stunner, surprise me.
Everything new in New England’s beginning to sink.
Stunner-surprise, wrote your name in invisible ink.
And the mayor’s gone down to the bar,
Pinking snowflakes and rice paper hearts.
As a quotient and condition,
The dour disposition of the truth.
The barricades left London, long ago.
I don’t mean to set you running,
Out of Shoreditch, through the snow.
And every weird suspicion
Gags itself on gardenhose.
I thought we had a good thing going:
Gas-lamp-lighted [sic] TV-shows.
And all my Maltese Bogies
Fuck the facts and chuck the rose.
Stunner, surprise me.
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2. |
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With each new, “I wish you would,”
I realize the problem and contemplate the "greater good.”
Mid-May in Birnam Wood,
The trees’ll start a-wandering
Like I wish you’d say, “I wish we could.”
But, I’ve got time I’d like to
Slip into the fold
Of that anorak you borrowed
From your first September cold.
And every raven in Los Angeles
Says, “Kid, you’re getting old.”
So, maybe quitting is the answer, after all.
I say this pieta
Is running out of chutzpa
Like a busted chop-shop panel saw.
Mid-May in Echo Park,
I’d give you all five fingers
Then recoil at the awful spark.
I’ve got time I’d like to
Slip into the fold
Of that anorak you borrowed
From your first September cold.
And every raven in Los Angeles
Says, “Kid, you’re getting old.”
So, maybe quitting is the answer, after all.
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3. |
THE MØDES ØF MAKING ØUT
05:03
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In the nave above the river,
Where we shivered through our skin,
Every chump is getting married,
Every skyline’s giving in,
Where you leaned against the balustrade,
In mid-century vim,
And then launched a proposition
That I took clean on the chin,
Where you said you loved the Devil
And I said, “I like him, too,
But the Devil won’t go softly,
Without taking what he’s due,”
I have nightmares ‘bout the suburbs,
Where the lights are far and few.
The idea was less than perfect,
So we kissed and kissed and kissed and kissed and…
We were going on about
The bloody modes of making out,
Beside the rhododendron garden.
Tomorrow leaves a welt
Like nothing else I’ve ever felt
And you were there, enthroned by starlings.
Pop songs punctuate the roses.
I’ve got bestiaries here
And liturgia deposes
What it was we did that year.
I have nightmares ‘bout the shower,
Where you made it plain and clear,
The idea was less than perfect,
So we kissed and kissed and kissed and kissed and…
We were going on about
The bloody modes of making out,
Beside the rhododendron garden.
Tomorrow leaves a welt
Like nothing else I’ve ever felt
And you were there, enthroned by starlings.
Going on about
The bloody modes of making out,
Beside the rhododendron garden.
Tomorrow leaves a scab.
You were the best I ever had.
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4. |
INTERMEZZØ
01:45
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5. |
L'ØRANGERIE
04:33
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Philosophy
Ran off with me:
Tilapia and the Salton Sea.
I’d recognize
Your high-beam-eyes
From any place they mobilize.
If I survive
The rising tide,
I’d meet you with the francophiles.
So we can see
L’Orangerie:
Light begging for some certainty.
God left Moses on the mountain
To play bingo with the fools.
You kept licorice in your top lip
While you smoked, behind the school.
We’ll take our clothes of in the kitchen
And pretend we know the rules.
I’d build and ark for this condition
But I haven’t got the tools.
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6. |
FRANK SINATRA
03:17
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When the thing you love comes rapping on the thick part of your thick skull
And you though you left the stuff that’s better left alone alone,
I’ve got news for you, it’s classical and free.
When the aspen’s caught, the asp, you thought, was prone to indecision;
Cleopatra was a vision of elective sympathy.
I’ve got news for you, romantic as can be.
High-patterned byway, what a vista, what a ragged history.
I’d do it my way but Sinatra was a rat for calumny.
We were the lovers at the lake;
We were the bathers at the ball;
We were the breakaway reforms that hammed their radios to the call.
We were the errant drop of paint;
We were that sense of being small;
We were the east coast canapés in every west cost Westfield mall.
We were the way you spit your summer-slick-back-
Bathing-suit-Lake-Hemet Tic Tac
Out into the August night
That stridulates its pagan right
To make you feel more than you aught to,
Getting down to being brought to tears:
September of our years.
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PRØM Denver, Colorado
"maybe quitting is the answer, after all."
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