Never Die First

Spinning

Intention

do these screens tell you anything
the decay etched in music notes
and hairline scratches
devaluing the world one tiny fall at a time

do these screens tell you how much i love you
and how much i fail
and how much i've failed.
where i've come from and how much
i hope i know.

can i write it all out like this
and make it all bright before the dub clicks
down
and i see you falling all around sidewalks of
rain soaked streets scattered with dead
leaves that decay into another season

already waiting.

so i could care less but i couldn't cling more
to these promises and false hopes that lead me
gazing from one pulsing light to the next
screaming and begging to monetize all art.

all hope.
all desire.

led away,
dreaming of dust covered ink.

Screens

This is a poem by Christina Rossetti that I set to melody and guitar. Nothing special.

Poem/Lyrics:

When I am dead, my dearest,
         Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
         Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
         With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
         And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not see the shadows,
         I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
         Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
         That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
         And haply may forget.

When I Am Dead My Dearest

Words written by Mike Kunze of the Newt Newtie Project.

Brainuirism

there’s no place here to hide.
all these records and photographs
collected by yours and mine

it’s ‘bigger than love’
then on to ‘carolina’
captured and released: needle and hook.

liked and loved.

argued out like so much temptation
I arch these battleships like communion
build bright the hyperbolic and share the right truth

liked and loved.

shut down and drowned well
hidden advertisements notify the small hours away—
buzzing and shaping tiny nightmares.

they trapped us here,
selling memories beyond repair: more burning than building 
more burning than building


throwing devices:

I turn off the blinking lights and tiny pixel screens
turn to you and hope we stop pretending
start whispering the real things

clean and clear.
liked then loved.

airwaveprocession