paint by Lisa Kaminski 
Michael Stock wrote, recorded, produced, and played all the instruments on this album.

|Song Series 2|

Forage for blackberries while I boil water for beets. 
Heal ourselves in nature.  
It’s one of my favorite views in the world, 
here in the clearing.
I’m sorry people don’t thank you more.
You often put others first. 
From the south side to a place like the town drove in through, 
a trailer park and four bars off Mainstreet. 

Crimson and orange receded over white pines 
Coyotes yipped not far away
And the wind blew so hard 

Away from that crackhouse next door, 
and a cat, lazy tiger full of trout, 
your familiar, Billie the Kid, was benevolent. 
The person not your step mother, ingenuous and seldom lucid, 
produced a cavalcade of words you had to brook,
 in a room that was stifling, 
but you took out the cards and called your dog over, moved a hand through fur 
and dealt her a moon in reverse.  

Crimson and orange receded over white pines 
Coyotes yipped not far away  
And the wind blew so hard
I’m glad we hiked. It brings peace of mind. And there’s just enough 
to pay next month’s bills, except student loans, 
but could have been worse like the winds in Boise or San Diego, 
where friends chased their writing and friends left their bodies. 


Wind

https://modernism.research.yale.edu/wiki/index.php/"Scylla_and_Charybdis"


Metempsychosis to ukulele

Embrace the changes, keep to yourself, and observe. 
Tolerance, creature comforts, picked up some habits,
I see, old man, that you’ve had some trouble keeping centered,
bones shattered, fixed to shore, wrung out at more than just one lake, 
and that you’re still mixing pills and that the pain, charged by attention, seems great, but you will be OK.  You need look no further than how you cut your brother and his lover.
Wonderful occasions bring almost all of us together and
everyone there truly smiles.
Meanwhile, subtract through hurry,   
not for you or her, momento mori.
Not Instagram or scrolling through news on the toilet, not the turns in halls we can’t see around…

Brother, gone through my things. Couldn’t drop them out an apartment, but at least I could give some away. Couldn’t let go of my American lit., or Snapchats, tasteful porn—a minor digital trace… 

(Now the singer to his love)
I know it’s alright when we say good morning and we say goodnight. 
I need you to see it through my eyes. 
I’m going to take the long way home.  
I need you to see it through my eyes. 


Take the Long Way Home

Caravan take me closer than I’ve ever been 
to the belly of something don’t know what it is  
pass by Great Lakes 5 a.m. to noon 
green breaks, summer, interstate fools 

Main reason I’m still breathing…
Wore out tread grooves way I ‘was traveling
take in the moment with all my sensory  

Drive 35 to 64 through a passage of Appalachians 
We’ll stop for burgers and talk about the election 
To the ocean find creatures in the sand 
North-route, acquaintance in Queens, awake surprised even 
tho you told me we’d get so much light. 

Main reason I’m still breathing is you. 
So what you gonna do? If you’re still grieving, don’t need to give reason. It’s hard to forget about that shit,
but got your back, said 
Worn out tread grooves way I was traveling 
take in the moment, all my sensory. 
Easy every time we cross state lines to sit in comfortable quiet.

Highway

untitled

|album playlists| and more, self-recorded
DM to collaborate.
need beats, drummer, bass, or vox

|Song Series 2|

|Michael's Experiments|