CRiCkERS

(spray paint and marker on canvas)

Straight Razor Sighs

A turnstiles melody exists in it's rotation / though without closing hours coupled with motionlessness the pegs can never harbor the energy necessary to trod and play / so be reminded that the neighs of your mare at twilight are not soul songs of the moment / but neglections of camps deployed in hindsight / warming fires not lit 'til first light / feedbags left to spoil /jaw bits you never took the time to learn needed nothing but soft hands and a calming tone rather you assumed rested easier in mouths if soaked in good intentions and oil /
your feet may be bare so that you will always know the lay of the land more intimately than civilians and us blacksmiths used to pounding around in knob nail shoes / but on the gradient of the hill of this country we have another word for your T(enuous)L(oathing)C(are) / your ardent oil concoctions you believed yourself was mead / and that is interrogation / in the case of the horses sleep deprived unknowledge which remains more than likely / possibly potential homicide /
but even an animals fish eyed view of you spanning the height and breadth of a corporate high rise / even an animal crippled with no eyes knows what words of meaning are worth when there are no hooves through it's mane when it lays down to die /
but you don't care for yourself / and a gypsy's trust is only as worthy as their heart remains still / which in the heat of the dark and moment is sporadic unusual predated and honestly / not that often //
I keep no work animals or pets / no will that I recognize as my own / but as a communal understanding of the difference between productive solitude generated spiraling outwardly and gaps left in the earth by straight razor sighs swung from the ankles of trunks en route / scouring the lay of land for creatures to grasp coddle and smother leaving nothing of an excuse but blood on the roots saying at least I tried / over grown vines choke out the forest and when there is no where left for the animals to hide / they'll find refuge at front of the claw foot furnace that warms my nape and ember scuffed pant legs / my back to the light / hammer on anvil / there are no words here / no intentions / just a steady beating heart / a path to travel and a home in sight

Freestyle XII

How do we keep the clan steeped in circles?
the way we break spin the body movement
outsiders they see nothin' but confusion
but we who orchestrate the stint
we know the rooms that groove
tinker with chaos / a bios we chose
loose clothes / a natural high
our tongues are sky / rain hot dose
twisted caps shiver with bent knees
get low as roots / deep as oak trees
sly grins soak in the beats we weave
scratch mixin' sounds just to please us
swarms of limbs / sweat storm
drip drop before we leave / no fuss
just break in the beat / loud cusses
crescendo to screams / props to the artist
big ups / early hours of the morning sun
drawn curtains and long cuts / superfluous stew
our finger tips move in the air like blazed sluts
old school new school / present in earth ships
hand made by us / these ain't love shacks
we call em ritualistic vestibules / aka god huts
might as well got legs 'cuz ya know the walls strut
like it a prerequisite / you know how we do
you know how we must / trust the dust we rise
like we salt in the rain bringin' the rust / delirious
guts grown with a lust for the gust guardless of puss
shimmy with soles down gold grill born knuckles up
these bare bones don't rattle when we battle they prattle
the mantle scandle never veiled blasted loud as fuck
the kick and the snare the womp and the thump
this soul risin' shit now get on your feet /and jump

Living Room '08 misc. transmission

We are at Shambhala
it is 5:30 in the morning
Bass Nectar has warmed into his set along side the river
the sun is rising and slides visible slates of light
through what was heavy fog the night before
now just whisps cross the forest edges
the last glimpses of dragons breaths
pulled apart by swaying tree tops
everyone flows around each other so easily
as squeezed between fingertips
pills in the shape of needle sharp ellipses
there ain't nothin' but positivity here
all good vibes like the bass lines
love is all we know / ain't no disses
just the kinetic constant kiss of earth
against our soles and on rare occasion
the earth against our wrists
we never need to stop 'cuz every step
is a 1/10th second of a legitimate rest
we have been dancing since before the sun last rose
I laugh as I move to the dream I have chosen
the beauty here cannot be contained
so we do the only thing we know how to
so we push the air away with each sweeping limb
so as to cast any impending barricades away
the set crescendos it enraptures us
we are captured as we are released
and we are torn asunder and the beauty is free
listen . . .
close your eyes and listen with me

yeah . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Ickerrbak

The dart sled roses grew in dusted fire bended 'neath the forest floor at the foot of that great orchard / inside the softened sphere of lighting the flames took swift a cause crackling in posture spoke relation / brethren of our waving hands and rising cheeks sinching redder with the overture of another apple heart / sopping seeds and stars we carved / a steel blade runs the length of thumbs to a nail, string known and hips informed / if only these were mine / if only I was yours to own / we might spend the stone and agitate / acoustically in languages that only you could know / you taught the serpents symmetry / the snow / starving hares we parented barbwired through the throat / beat tread paths that danced like we do in the fire out of necessity / or to turn our nerve ends outwardly / we were oaks with upturned roots that lead us leave wherever we may go / and wherever the sky boats tow / there we will follow into a night crossed as canvas hatches / the bridges of branches wet as staved matches light up our way and point us to day with windows that glow and gates open latches

torches / there / north star / bare

spade nose upwardly gingerly we follow

for the wretches of clouds reflect the trenches of sounds / glinting as the leper shard mouths stapled in a lax style bound / accustom to corn rows gold leaf textured as kief coarse as the wool of a hound / the hides we bleed ground south from the poles cadavers under ice

heart beats melt the sleet the sheets of still polaroid snow

through a thin layer of frozen water

uneven with the skins palpitations

the hazel flecks of an iris skew in ellipses

reminiscent of the seed of the apple of your dissected eye

cut lengthways we embodied the shape of stars to come

on lesser days we were glancing sideways

and mistook the slipping blade for the rising of the sun

the symmetry of freezing rain evens out our pores

and we appear younger in the white out than we ever have before

when our shadows spread long enough to bend up
across and over the white wash picket fence...
when our shadows spread long enough to bend up
across and over the yellow as squash aging dog with no chance...
when our shadows spread long enough to bend up
across and over the worn through walls and roof of the home we built
but who's life over the last decade had been tested and spent...
it was in these hours that we allowed our powdered forms a seasonal step from threshold up across the caking dust plain stretched between the whispers we panned from goldmine to one another at the bottom of warm baths lips locked with a feverty exclaiming the length of canvas over planks we carved and set together we'd cross from cushioned caves and screen doors in a tone wavering as cellophane the traceless scar skims the hairline of your face / eyes accept the dust like lakes the dry heat and particles freckled our skin in circles / boney chests to perspiring nape / shoulders that bronzed the summits sun summoned our brooding mouths dictation from tractor chakra to cow tongue cuticle into yoga positions reminiscent of kung-fu studied widthways / the only difference is that, on today / conjoining the curvature of shadow our lips bent occular in an awkward attempt to rise in the heat of whats best for our souls and our nest to sew what is left so that they in later years in an hour not unlike todays can hold their swollen jaws high and in contest with a smile at rest and stand a chance at the shades judging stance we cast on a mushroom patch that we had nicknamed hollow
for that was the orchard where we learnt how to swallow ramifications and give way to a freedom our joints thirsted for on the dust plains a process of the combining of our marrow
for that was the orchard where we learnt how to swallow
and when we fed it was always the notions of an animals dying child
we are so sorry for the pain we've caused you
we just mistook these vestiges for bile //
we stood above the infants barefooted on shallow graves as we watched the bodies stave and swell / twitch infectiously as if they were the tunnels and home ways of something larger than the space that contains it / as if it were less when visible / wanting to disappear so that it/me/you/we/us could again be as it should / so that together we could finally be whole

and I know

\ I now know /
there are some bodies that never let go of their soul