1. |
A Minor Disaster
05:36
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A MINOR DISASTER
As the grape leaves choked the light from the sundial,
through the windless air just after the feast of St. Jerome,
a flying machine like she'd never seen
came bombinating over field and town.
It had four square wings the color of lobster claws
and a nose that buzzed like her father humming through a comb
and it made her sigh and need to fly
'til the engine coughed and the plane came down.
Oh my God,
is something moving in the cockpit?
Somebody's alive in there!
They're gonna die if I don't help them!
I'm not ready.
I'm not ready.
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2. |
Bus Station
02:53
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BUS STATION
Waited an hour at the bus station,
weary from working.
Some guy is washing out his clothes in the bathroom
while I'm trying to rinse my hands.
Was it a landlord? A hospital bill?
Don't look at me like that! I know--
it wouldn't take much.
I fell asleep on the bus
(this guy was watching me)--
I woke up lost.
Now, I don't know, but I tell myself
I am no longer young,
don't need a lot from the world.
But I can't escape this feeling of being drawn
backwards through the streets.
All right, I guess I'd be crazy
just to accept that I got no power.
What troubles me are these hideous dreams of impact.
I'm walking home with a rose in my hand
like an albatross again,
to mark the time.
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3. |
All Saints
03:32
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4. |
The Matron
03:06
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THE MATRON
In persistence while you sleep
the matron stands before the sink
among the objects of the day
and grinds away the grime you miss
while you chicane the jungle gaze
down city shafts throughout the day.
You sweat harder than a horse
beneath the girth, and when you draw
the blinds...
And if you didn't drink so much
your body wouldn't wake you up
and send you squinting out across
the floodlit kitchen to relief,
to glimpse the flicker of a form
among your wants
scrubbing and scraping
soaping and scouring
grinding and grating
scrubbing and scraping
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5. |
Numbers
02:19
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NUMBERS
Little man leaning
over the geometry of the night.
Who builds a model
of the heart out of numbers
is impossibly in love with the light
like Methuzelah, who,
after 969 oughts
stopped counting
a week before the flood.
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6. |
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DON"T MAKE ME SLEEP ON THE FLOOR
Oh, the wind and the broken rain
skimmed across the plain
and it blew away the heat.
Ever since I left the lakes
I've been dreaming about Rawlins
and your warm, yellow kitchen
at the end of the street.
Don't make me sleep on the floor
We're not that simple anymore
I leave all my work clothes by the door
Just don't make me sleep on the floor.
I don't know why you always hide
your bewilderment inside--
you know it's all I ever wanted to see.
After all the years I've known you,
after all the wounds I've shown you,
how can you be so formal with me?
Don't make me sleep on the floor
We're not that holy anymore
I leave all my history by the door
Just don't make me sleep on the floor.
Through all my traveling,
through all my plans' unravelling,
I've always found your garden full and green.
You're like a chain of tiny islands
skipping along the horizon
with the strangest native flora
these eyes have ever seen.
I leave everything outside of Rawlins by the door
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Jack O' The Clock Oakland, California
JACK O' THE CLOCK "presents a fine lesson on what it means to write songs that are at once approachable and human while simultaneously being incredibly profound in terms of timbre, depth of emotion, and harmonic complexity," Progulator.
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