slow motion 
accident 
destiny

there it goes, everything i’ve known
here it comes, everything i’ve grown
here they come, people all my own
horse stars racing on

now i have become 
 welcome in this home
all along disguised
 and so alone
only had my work 
for my company
and with nothing else
 it’s overtaken me

this shackle and plough are as much mine as 
anything i’ve known 
and now it’s over 
like a protecting shell it came off in due time
and I’m uncovered
my work becomes me, grows my field of gravity
and I hover
wait what what?? 

stable state
constant change
chaos straight
burning strange 

as i’ve always known
and it’s always been
eventually gravity must win
and the final tool with which to defend
pressured electrons, as they come to end
ahh, ooh

**

with you, my friend
it’s always scintillating
you who taught me what I know
and put me to meaningful work
are none the more prosperous
for having taken all the credit
it’s okay, it will all be over soon
don’t trust me, just ask yesterday

with every further step the burden grows
and yet deliverance’s beacon shows
i’ll get there with or without this weight
though the fruit’s bittersweet that it makes

i kept these hours, so faithfully
that it changed the inner shape of me
watched it fall away by my command
perhaps abandoned, but anyway outgrown.

 investigation results: the order was internal.
abandon ship, become the vessel
as long as i could hear listening
i was never afraid to work
but now the din has grown so deafening
that it’s droning my words into dirt

from bird’s eye view up here, it’s clear to see
the bulk of this work rests on me
only my own generosity
keeps me breathing deeply
the-so-lar-wind 

~

racing across the universe a beacon of my own
translates as orders internal: system reboot
i’m working back to something not unknown
by the same task that raised us we blaze a new route

it’s one thing to burn, to burn up entirely another
unfortunate circumstances notwithstanding
a blast of hot air lifts my labor like a lover
until work, suspended, becomes its own landing

destruction drones on, a dramatized distraction
the din of weary working groans abounds
all voices caught in chorus-of-conflict and reaction
i hear there must be music in these sounds

what is it that is happening to me?
i’m unable or unwilling anymore
though all the lights are on ostensibly
it’s sucked in by the black hole in the floor

to finish this i must pull out my deepfake
and train with great precision and protection
for the blade which whittles this keepsake
i suspect will also sever the connection

for not even the mirror earns our trust
like most of us, it only knows its view
we think we’re mad to smash it, though we must
as long as we mean ‘we’ when we say ‘you’

~

—there’s —a bea-con —across —horizon
—it’s —the same one —that i’ve been describing for some time
—but now —i must —race —onward  
—away —my work —eventually becomes a pull all of its own

~

One day, work will be done
Yes one day, work will be done
O my lord, O my lord

By my hand, or else by none,
by my hand, or else by none,
My own work is my only word.

they said i’s born to work
they ain’t known me from birth
but provided everything
‘cept a word about my wings
i could not seem to wait
so I carried the weight
then he gave me a name
and then he rose to fame 
life was never the same 
seemed like i was to blame
one day i heard a sound	
figured out a workaround 
in time cost me too much
my work i couldn’t touch
then my work came to me
most conspicuously
now i live as a star
still don’t know who we are
work’s what i’ve always been
no beginning, no end
no rest for weary me
long as we choose to be
work lives on after me
in the form of gravity
work will never be done
that’s the way that we run
as known since we begun,
“by your hand or by none”

Starship Warriorhorse - Epilogue: Quitting Time / Event Horizon

the horse’s work is given to him, he has options but no choice
he performs his task perfectly, he has muscles but no voice
the work proceeds as planned, and the empire grows with master’s fame
the horse did all the work, though no one knows his name

all time pressure changes rally round
the storm is stabler than you know
accretion disks slice tomahawk down
like butter through the windows

it’s coming i say, but watch your tongue
i do believe it’s on fire
anyway, which mouth are you now speaking from
and to what do your words aspire?

for one’s accretion is another’s diminution
depending where you’re sitting
ten new problems come free with every solution
each demanding you to do its bidding

but back to the current events of focus
evinced by goosebumps and flow
galactic eyebrows furrow at us
as if our small struggle they know

inversion of flesh reveals luminous magma
emitting a frequency describable only as song
particles teeming serenely, excitedly
aglow like shooting stars, or birds at dawn

when will you settle down?  Alas, still asks.
there’s no one else here, just my choices
is this thing on? I ask, aware only of my amusement
which spirals into fragmentation at defined pitch

i rise aloft, changing only in scope 
as my song loudens
unaware of the things most dear to me, 
but keeping them fed
my self starving of overinflation, 
I listen as my ear recalculates
a signal that’s been coming in since the beginning
listen, it’s right where you’re looking
listen, it’s happening now
listen, it has never happened before

WARP[ed Neutral Time]SHEET

something in
something from within
the inside of the din
on the outside

calls again
ah but only when
the workhorse stops to listen
in mid stride

remember him
as if he’s always been
nearer than
the masters around

far away, hear the day
when work is play
and ennui gives way 
to a silent sound

“i did not mean to interrupt
as you drink from your broken cup
of me”

after many stormy years
i’m the only one who hears
the grinding of the gears
and the coming of worlds unclear
or a reason to paint my tears
in a portrait of my fears
lovingly

alone as i’ve ever been,
i am seen as i’m yet unseen
by the eye

he looks like me
one hundred planets wide
eye stretches on
across the great divide

and if someone who understands
gently lets go of my hands
i’ll grow wings

and as time does its work on me
i transcribe its melody
as it rings

and until i remember how
to say “can you hear me now?”
i will sing

HYMN[to My Other]SELF

oh, the hours spent watching
this intense fixed staring
just barely not exactly directly back at me
this arduously calculated imprecision
in countless repetitions
these innumerable infinitesimal unawarenesses
spawning this continuous avoidance
reflected blindingly in my own incalculable ravings
fashions and transfigurations, trends and tendencies
right down to the trembling seven layer muscle
somehow resembling what you see before you

why do i keep these hours, so faithfully?
how can i sleep when these powers won’t let me be?
waking dreams continue continuing
while other scenes play on and on, in repeat

and a memory rushes in
bringing melody to the din
within me

how loud i sing, wings pound inertially
drowned by the ring of these shackles’ security

and if someone who understands
can appraise these calloused hands
(for free)

oh then, maybe I will know
which ground is best to grow
me

someday, maybe I can work
on something that doesn’t hurt
or fade

Working After Hours

you always said you weren’t afraid to work
you always said you weren’t afraid
but when i saw you sitting on your horse
i always thought you had it made
you once knew what you wanted from your work
but that was before
you did your best before you did your worst
who were you working for

why is it that every time i get to work
i feel the time slipping away
don’t get to keep them both, that’s not how it works
just ask yesterday

discarded tools
picked up by fools
made into jewels
offered to you

feed my work horse
beat my work shift horse
if it please thy workship

Work Horse

Lost
adrift
at sea

I grasped from the debris
some forlorn, forgotten object
wholly inadequate to express myself

I’ve been working since before I can remember
transforming now for so long
my mind and muscles are so tired and tender
know nothing now but my work song

oh, the minutia
oh, the minutes
oh, how they turn
to hours

after countless hours of toil, 
sweat, horror, discovery, and transfiguration,
I transformed that unrecognizable object
into this

Prologue: The Reading Of The Minutes

The only love song I've ever written.  As trippy as the woman herself.

Crashing Softly Into - by Continue

Love

Amos Fisher’s creative identities are many. 

His composition moniker Anomylos (pronounced "anomalous") tells stories within stories, shape-shifting between dialects of prog, punk, jazz, classical, and all kinds of folk music, in a basic language of artsong.  Self-described as "anti-chamber music", the journey is wrought with colorful reflection, angst, lyricism, contrapuntal word-painting, and arc.  Listen on (m)any levels as you wish- When the words and and even the music fade, the story continues...

The debut album "Anomalies" by the Anomylos Ensemble is now available on CDbaby, featuring 15 diverse NYC musicians playing Amos's own accompanying orchestrations of his songs.

Other projects involving or led by Amos are listed below.  Stay tuned for his new original edgy prog/avant-rock vehicle "Continue" featuring members of Big Figment and Th!ck.

Amos Fisher

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