1. |
Through The Trees pt. 2
05:50
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Misunderstood
and disillusioned,
I go on describing this place
and the way it feels to live and die.
The “natural world”
and whatever else it’s called
I drive in and out of town
seeing no edge, breathing sky
and it’s hard to describe
without seeming absurd.
I know there’s no other world:
Mountains and websites
Dark smoke fills the air
some from the fire in my house
some from me driving around
I could see the lights of town
through the trees on the ridge
on my way home in the dark.
I meant all my songs
not as a picture of the woods
but just to remind myself
that I briefly live.
The gleaming stone
the moon in the sky at noon
there is no other world
and there has never been.
I still walk living sleeping
life in the real world of clouds
clawing for meaning.
Still when I see branches in the wind
the tumultuous place where I live
calls out revealing.
"Can you see the river in the branches
and know that it means you will die
and that pieces are churning?"
"Can you find a wildness in your body
and walk through the store after work
holding it high?"
I've held aloft some delusions.
From now on I will be perfectly clear:
There's no part of the world more meaningful
and raw impermanence echoes in the sky.
There is either no end
or constant simultaneous end and beginning.
A pile of trash
the fog on the hill
standing in the parking lot squinting.
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2. |
the Place Lives
02:42
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Watching the light change
I see the place lives.
I've stayed here long enough
moss has started to grow.
But still, wind sweeping clear
the brief collection assembled,
the silt I clutch.
Looking east in the spring
through ashes and fog
white permanent
snow
shines.
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3. |
the Place I Live
05:58
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If I look
or if I don't look
clouds are always passing over
the place I live.
The place I live
passing under
my feet while my mind wanders
in a sea of fog.
On a ridge
seeing through a hole in the fog
("A thought out of nowhere comes passing through")
I say to myself
("I say to myself, like a voice on the wind")
"Behold"
but I see nothing.
Rocks and water and wood
not speaking to me.
("Left alone to wander above")
Slow and uneasy and alive.
("wanderer above the sea of fog")
I mean the place lives
and clouds pass over
("sitting on a ridge and watching clouds pass over")
the landscape
a blanket on stone
("where an ocean of glaciers rolled")
Land waves are rolling.
("Through a fog, this is a brief life.")
("Short and cold, momentarily.")
("A life as brief as the morning fog")
Momentarily,
I come out from under.
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4. |
(something)
01:31
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5. |
Lone Bell
04:15
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I imagined a clear bell echoing in the hills
behind curtains of rain
in the hills behind the high school
so I opened the door and went there.
Walking slowly in a white wall of fog
a silent more cautious awareness arises.
Deeper in, the ground at my feet falls away.
On a peak or in a swamp, all debris erased.
lone bell
clear moon
sky home
distorted cymbals rise
What is left of the dissipating dream world I made?
Mid day, in the light, quiet echoes of a freezing moon
distant bell, cold and clear.
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6. |
House Shape
04:03
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I stayed inside all morning
watching waves of rain pass over
cold and dry by the window
I didn't turn a light on.
The fireplace dead since last night
emptiness inside, cold morning
low grey sky immense living belly
of a silver fur thing.
In waves of weather the house lies
piled up wood with me inside
I'm piled up dust, alive, dreaming
or walking whirlpool of water
awake and indifferent
looking at cars go by and then get forgotten
only a sound of a waterfall breathing out
in one long exhale
rings in my ears for a moment
then another wave of rain blows over
greying out the light
the lawn through window seems undiscovered.
A separate way of seeing.
A separate way of breathing it in.
A lost world separate from the usual
barely meaningful waking and dreaming.
Lost in an unfolding
thinking about what to do with a day
sitting while the light dies
until finally it's over.
In blue dusk I finally step outside
breathing in the cloud that has settled
noticing a black looming house shape
and at last my eyes crack open.
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7. |
Over Dark Water
03:06
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Vastness and watching
at the crest of night
seeing in
blue hole grows
yawning.
Swept above
the hills roll
over the water
I call low
wild
hunt
to the ocean.
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8. |
(something)
00:30
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9. |
Clear Moon
07:20
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Lost in a fog
groaning an ode to a clear moon.
An empty song,
a flash of light in the storming.
Dawn
remembered
as a blade.
A stream
cutting
the world awake.
The only light:
imagined clear moon in a black sky.
A distant bell:
imagined clear moon in a black sky.
Through a wall of fog:
clear moon remembered.
I breathe in.
Imagined clear moon in a black sky.
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10. |
Yawning Sky
03:28
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Drifting sideways
waves roar
lifted high enough up to see the shore and my friend
then the trough
and impenetrable sky
yawning sky
Asking questions
while night grows
with an ancient unknown that I carry around,
lost
then thunder replies
storming mind
Insignificant and billowing
a new storm
a new kind of roaring to tear through days
through the trees
through an opening light
yawning sky
Tossed on the waves
missing
from moment to moment being carried wherever
face pressed against
an impenetrable sky
yawning sky
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11. |
(synthesizer)
02:59
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Mount Eerie Anacortes, Washington
on Lummi, Samish, Klallam, Tulalip and W̱SÁNEĆ land
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