1. |
Quagmire of Love
08:53
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I took a valium
to sort out the kitchen
had some sort of vision
what everything has in common
it was a little brief
a little curt
a little wine upon my shirt
won my attention
double fluro strips in the cosmetics aisle
limerence permitting you to smoke inside
memory reduced to gradients of light
sun
I’ve been trying to determine a point in you
I want to find a certain moment and take some residue
or is it refuge?
I don’t know
I want to find that point where a thought is incomplete
the synapse has clicked but the message is still in between
its departure point and the point where it is received
I want to press myself against that tiny pause
I want to give it form
emotional frottage
I took a valium
to sort out the kitchen
but I left the dishes
I couldn’t stomach them
mobile starred listings of houses to rent
and all of the dead skin that I shed
from my scalp to the place where you slept
sun
in a half unpacked living room
I address a melancholic giggle to you
because it sure is sobering
to have mazzy star preempting
exactly what I’m thinking
the feelings not specific
but your zig zag linen
and the window we’d sit half in
smoking or arguing
your dull carpet and the rules of the house
a shared toothbrush
the inside of your mouth
your Qantas pyjamas
your carnal blunder
all of these I put under hope sandaval’s trite chorus
and I said simple songs
yeah they’re always better
she said so write
write something simpler
and I owe it to her
but I’m stuck
I’m stuck in the kitchen
barely existing
not trusting my friends only minor things
reduced to fetishising petty observations
reduced to dissecting their fraught connections
like weather balloons and children gone at two
houses to rent and dandruff I’ve dispensed
cosmetics sections and puppy love affection
it’s like nothing is in its rightful place
and everything refuses to be arranged
I need a weight that you contain
well I miss the boring motions the quagmire of love
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2. |
Oysters
04:39
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I’ve had a will to circumvent
my stale penchant
to grandstand without relent
but like translating the dance of the bees
to complement a language of tongues lips and teeth
there’s a nuance in the choreography
that sends a message I can’t receive and I know
I know the language
I know the language but not what it reads
like linen cupboard secrets
and recycling bin poetry
I know the diagnoses
but not what it needs
I’ve been wishing on shucked oyster shells
like oceanic love-me love-me-not petals
I’ve been trying to let the details inhabit themselves
but the lure in the correspondence between distinct worlds
has got me cataloguing myself
out of the known universe
and onto the shelf
that’s littered with the names we use to comfort ourselves
just as I neglect the crux of the form
that tells me where the honeys coming from
and the direction of the sun
I disregard my companions
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3. |
Bed Springs
08:18
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Rain in my coffee this morning
a banana and wine in my stomach this evening
my furniture arranged and sheets hung between them
the canopies they make aren’t drying
I sit and wait and bemoan our timing
or the annals of love
the concrete they’re inscribed in
distance has been growing more obtuse
I’m cleaning my room as a tribute to you
trying to manifest changes that don’t belong in a room
misunderstanding is a means of communion
the easing of grief feels like substitution
misunderstanding is a means of communion
the easing of grief it feels like
Michaels been begging for a major progression
Luis wants a chorus or at the very least a hook
and Lesley thinks the last songs a touch vitriolic
but I’m not sure if it’s fear of repetition
or if my vanity needs a perch
where it might be mistook
for genius
or fact
and not the cause of attrition
here I am constantly undermining
my songs by pointing to their inner workings
but if I discard all my tropes and deflections
all that’s in focus is that he’s on her bed springs
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