1. |
Scatter
04:30
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You are the wings in their feathers. You are the wind in the snow. You follow where the evening goes and settle into black and white, where you scatter through me.
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2. |
January 3
02:07
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We fell asleep beside the ghosts of my old words and I keep waking up to noises I've misunderstood. We left our bodies in the cold of January 3. I said I'd drive north and disappear; would you look for me?
"Love, where did you go?"
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3. |
Sky Burial
02:18
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Are you just a dream with bones in arrows to the sky? Are you a cloud that fades as the day passes by? Like writing on a page or water on the leaves, you can gain no meaning as your body disappears. So don't pray until your hands will break or place your wounds on your mistakes; we all bleed to the edge of the page, then tear and float along the wind and find a life outside our skin. Why not, then, be buried in the sky? When "living" is just another word for "dying."
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4. |
Lost Legs
05:45
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Are you just a dream with bones in arrows to the sky? Are you a cloud in the dark who waits, asking: "Why, lord, why, when it seems like heaven, then it glows and fades, and it falls so heavy like love and rain?"
I've been living on my last dregs and running on my lost legs. They used to move mountains. Now, they may not move the earth beneath my feet, but they still move my heart to beat: "When it seems like heaven, then it glows and fades, from the last of evening to the first of day."
If I fall into the ocean I'll know then if I sink or ascend or dissolve in salt and sin. Either way's the world, I'll play as I've rehearsed and merge with the universe.
Maybe God is a hollow inside of your chest. Maybe nothing can't break if nothing's at rest, and it bends to the stillness of the world all around. Maybe we are not lost and we make no sound.
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5. |
Durocher
04:08
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I take his hand on St-Denis and his words pause as he turns to me in the last light of evening. On Durocher we fell asleep until summer faded from its green and left us shivering in the fall.
Now Montréal seems much too far, from Outremont to the northeast side of Charles and the longest three blocks west of Patrick. In early morn I call his phone to feel his shivers rattling my tiny bones, our voices floating on dust and static.
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6. |
Ghost Town
04:29
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Where I grew up there's an old ravine. We would spend our afternoons there, wading through the shallow streams. But kids don't play there anymore; the waters all got poisoned when they found some precious ore.
Past the trees are the empty fields. The farmers left them years ago when the seasons brought no yield. There's not much here but dust and stone. The empty barns ring hollow, all the doors are rusted closed.
Past the fields are the empty trains. They used to carry workers every night and every day. But one day all the work ran out, so they packed up what they could and went to look in other towns.
Past the tracks are the empty homes. They're barely standing up still, so many years they've been left alone. Well, they say they're haunted anyway, because the dead folks there won't leave if they've got nowhere else to stay.
So I'll kneel down in that old ravine and whisper prayers into the ground until our world is healed. You'll find my body after dark; the new grasses growing have laid their roots down in my empty heart.
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7. |
Still Life
05:41
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Still life.
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