1. |
Dream Off
03:43
|
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A massacre in a field I recognized
before I ever woke,
in the moonlight,
where the raiders slit your throat.
A souvenir from a life I'll never live:
I kissed you on the lips
in a mangrove,
where the blood came out in drips --
I came to save you.
Dream on, where I can lean on you.
Dream off, and when I come to, you're lost.
We grow alone, and we shake,
but when our eyes close, we wake.
Dream on, where I can lean on you.
The silhouette of a face misplaced in time
at Merriweather Post,
but in the treetops
I could overhear your ghost.
The mezzanine of the end of days untied --
the belly of the beast --
but on the inside,
you were always at least
someone to lean on.
Dream on, where I can lean on you.
Dream off, and when I come to, you're lost.
We grow alone, and we shake,
but when our eyes close, we wake.
Dream on, where I can lean on you.
Dream off, and when I come to --
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2. |
Atticus
04:18
|
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I never knew that I'd let me go this far.
I never knew that I'd let me see your cards.
I never knew lights left scars.
I never knew, through the radar.
Over your heads,
I'll be listening.
My palaces reigned o'er Reds,
mildly glistening,
but you want me dead,
and you never miss.
You want my head --
want my abacus, Atticus.
You want me dead, and you never miss.
You want my head --
want my abacus, Atticus Finch.
I never took Pikes in turn to charge.
I never took Church in my backyard.
I never knew these rights had guards.
I never knew, through the radar.
I need you to tell me
that you've stopped,
and you'll never start again
to tell me that you've stopped,
and you'll never start
to tell me that you've stopped,
and you'll never start again
to tell me that you've stopped,
and you'll never start.
You want me dead,
and you never miss.
You want my head --
want my abacus, Atticus.
You want me dead, and you never miss.
You want my head --
want my abacus, Atticus Finch.
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3. |
A Permanence Apart
04:32
|
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Your parents are artists
if you never look back --
if you're far from a goddess,
but a perfect lack.
And even if a heart is the hardest
that anybody could crack,
you can still threaten to scar it
while it remains intact.
I'm aware that the target
is an ineffable part of my past.
I held eyelashes to the glass
to avoid contact,
but in the white all along
was a long-abandoned black.
America taught us to live life locked down,
but the sign of a martyr can make you talk.
A permanence apart,
and you know your art.
You know your part
will only serve to guide.
It's a permanence apart,
and you know your lines.
You memorized a guise
you know will show in time.
We can say that we're jealous,
but we won't ever be owned:
the personal hell of another
king dethroned.
And even if a whole city can tell us
that we'd be ugly alone,
it'll be a while again before I know,
when my writer's cramp
has become a cigarette boat,
when the fate you felt was in your throat,
and the light you held
has become another lamppost now.
It's a permanence apart,
and you know your art.
You know your part
will only serve to guide.
It's a permanence apart,
and you know your lines.
You memorized a guise
you know will show in time.
So keep her close this time.
Improvise this time.
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Science, the Itch Washington, D.C.
Science, the Itch grew out of a cautious dialogue with love & inquiry, two addictions among the most challenging & central to being human. Opening with the imagery of dreams, the project folds a low-fidelity envelope around questions at the interface of passion & reason: Can two agents connect while apart? What is the historicity of one? How does fear become paranoia, and discovery seizure? ... more
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