into the waters

too far

(my stomach firm

against the warm pier)

i feel the soft whip

of sea grass

and the tiny nudge

of little fish

i must be half submerged

by now

it is a different season

down there

they are celebrating

something wet and cold

allowing my fingers

to intrude

(i as silent as them)

drunk on bubbles

and everything swaying

with the same current

i taste your salt water

forget the pier

all in

like the water is a cult

and i have been

persuaded

My less-known musical project Ormonde is a duo with singer/songwriter Robert Gomez. We joined forces on 2 occasions in Texas (Marfa, then Denton) to make 2 albums, each written and recorded in a matter of weeks.

Lyrics do not always come as quickly as melodies, and with our second album, I found myself borrowing often from the book of poems I was working on at the time.

One of the songs on that album, ‘Paintings’, was straight up a poem I had already written that I set to melody and chords.

‘Collapse’ was the only time, however, that I spliced two different poems together. Robert wrote the chords for that song, made a cool instrumental track and looped it. The melody came quickly for me but I struggled finding words for it. I flipped through all of my poems-in-progress looking for ones with the right mood and meter. I ended up borrowing from both Castle and Tuning, which were both fresh poems for me at the time. Every time I hear the song I still hear the seams where they were sewn together. For anyone wanting to make a deep dive, here are the 2 poems, and the ensuing song.

Which became:

Collapse

I want us to stop for a moment

Gentle and still like nurses

Nurses touching compresses

To each other’s black eyes

I dreamed everything that I said

Was a sand castle in collapse

And I didn’t know if you’d heard the right words

Or the falling of sand

Maybe if we listen to your heart together

Like violinists

Violinists when they tune

Maybe if you let me tune to you

I dreamed everything that I said

Was a sand castle in collapse

And I didn’t know if you’d heard the right words

Or the falling of sand

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Here also is a link to the tribute video the TCS fan club put together:

https://youtu.be/sWisH3HEfn0?is=BX9UdS7K8lmoJ2iB

my latest cover of Lana Del Rey’s beautiful song Born To Die is out everywhere to stream or purchase (Bandcamp) today.

i made a little video clip last night (below) and recorded a rambling talk (above) about me, this recording, why another cover, how to support recording artists, etc. thanks for putting me back on the rising in music list today. i appreciate every subscribe, paid or otherwise. i love this community.

how the middle of the night 

bends like an ellipse 

to trap me,

a marble,

at the bottom,

so the next second 

doesn’t come ticking 

but curls up 

on the floor, 

but also 

the wave of words 

and faces, forgotten,

emerging like bodies 

in a river,

but then

how i know 

that if i did sleep,

at the bar 

i would order 

my usual dream,

and it isn’t good for you 

like it isn’t good for me 

if i keep calling 

you back to me 

holding the tall weeds 

back with my hands 

for you 

using my heel 

to redirect the thorny 

blackberry canes 

like a railroad switch 

for you 

and in the first place 

why ever i am here

fanning flames 

and carving names 

i think we are both here for 

you 

my first child was not born.

i didn’t talk about it.

i erased march from the calendar

and by april i was pregnant again.

from a distance,

a line with no break.

a pretty brush stroke,

maybe a bit pale

in the middle.

i know how to speak of pain

but not of this.

three times

i had to go in

and look at nothing growing

on the monitor.

someone/not someone

who would not leave my body.

after two weeks

you may make an appointment.

and return to the world.

i swear i am unbroken.

i just know what that monitor means.

the best of times, the worst of times.

that december,

my daughter was born,

dainty, perfect.

the bandage for grief

is love.

most often concealed,

but sometimes exposed,

the special china

unstowed,

mine send me chills

throughout the day,

the place that the wind whips

first,

where breath pools

in an embrace,

they must be the antennae,

that sense and taste.


sometimes i blush,

and put them away.

a long con

wolf befriending sheep,

being taken in your sleep

i sipped slowly at first,

expecting poison

i trained my eyes

to search yours

like a penlight

not imagining

that i could be useful

for so long,

when does the shoe drop

never mind

that our two ships

sail so close

that they sometimes

scrape each others’ sides

i just know what i saw

in you, at first,

and what you

didn’t see in me

that fairy tales

are dried flowers

that last until they crumble,

and i might die in your arms

believing it.

^{photograph by Stephen Walker}

salted rim,

all that i need

on a night like this

what does that mean

a night like this

like they are packaged soaps,

respective towers

1.

i spent the night alone

checking the phone

too many times

2.

you came over after all

and we ate toast

and forgot the world

3.

i missed you

and shaved my legs

and thought of you

4.

i drank too much

and had to sit in my car

for a half hour

5.

my girlfriend and i

sent each other ridiculous texts

while i baked cookies

6.

the apartment smelled of smoke

so i shut the windows

and washed all of the sheets

7.

i walked the street

half zen, writing poems in my head

half vigilant, car keys engaged in palm

8.

i went to a movie alone

yes, it’s true

there aren’t many of these

9.

i saw his name in my inbox

like a flare

and dared myself not to read it

10.

my body hurt

epsom salt bath

and i prayed to no one

one of these?

i wanted to be known.

i wrote,

i read it aloud.

i rhymed,

i sang it.

i traveled.

i wanted to be accessible.

ask me anything.

i shipped my own merchandise

and made small talk at the post office.

i confessed in interviews.

i wrote books.

i included my secrets.

i signed the books.

i didn’t wear make up

and just let my face out

of the cage like a tiger.

i wanted to be coveted.

i seduced.

in school

i slipped notes in hands,

often to no one

particularly interesting.

and then realized that

singing was better.

i would sing for love.

i would be loved.

i used myself as a decoy.

still not known enough.

read my diary.

listen to my dream.

why is it so hard,

purring in all of the languages.

when will i be known.

at my elbow

is a ghost,

that likes to hear me play

the piano. I suppose

he likes to hear the black keys

most. that sound

sleek and dark as they look.

when I open the blinds

in the morning, he delights

in the condensation,

where our breath

has mingled with the room

and become a part of it,

and he doesn’t mind the

searching light of the sunrise,

like a spirit with a flashlight.

he joins me in the shower,

and as I brown the toast, until

I slip my shoes on and

take leave of the house.

then I am alone.

.

I notice every living thing,

the geese who fly

like they’ve been strung

like ornaments together,

the weaving spiders and

frosted grass. life, my breath

in the air,

my quickening pace,

my memories like flapping

post its. alive and impermanent,

visiting, wandering.

digging my shoes into the earth.

he doesn’t know this part of me

that is free and light,

sampling all of this

noise and beauty;

.

but then i return home, and

we are almost the same.

^{(photo is a still from my music video for Slip, by Chris J. Cunningham)}

what of

these reams of rememberings,

the years

on the wrong side of now.

a box that could swan dive

from the closet,

faded, illegible

confetti.

one by one,

the loves grow stale

as loaves of bread..

and the dance

that nostalgic nerves do,

ends.

too long gone.

tick tick,

i don’t know your voice.

you cannot say

it’s me

anymore.

all of the handwriting blurs.

it is a little bit like dying,

tipping the relics

into the trash.

seeing the crowns

for the paper they were.

there are real objects in the room,

the book lying on the chair,

the jar of the candle,

to make light of whatever

weight i gave these ghosts.

there is a hum

coming from the fridge

saying i am here,

and they are not.

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