1. |
this too, shall pass
01:50
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when you feel a change, now, children,
look around you.
on the ground you place your feet
you may need to make a stand.
this is the time for the gentle, hardy, person,
DO NOT BE FOOLED!
If you think you’re right, please think again.
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2. |
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3. |
blue pants, green shirts
01:34
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Blue pants, green shirts,
The Sewer Saints arrive.
Their leader is a cruel man.
I look him in the eyes.
and I said,
“This is the flute that will call your death!
There is no denying.”
People seemed both awed, confused
as I held out the prize.
“I give it to you as a gift.”
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4. |
abyss, capable of charm
02:54
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exit reality and turn left,
off the dock nearby (under a pinkish sky,)
are some people
you perhaps remember:
“Grandmother! Grandfather! Great-Uncle,”
and a big, bull seal, wearing his club-team jersey
he reminds you who he is quickly enough,
sinkin’ his teeth in.
“I’m The Bull.”
as you and your friend wrestle deftly, underwater,
in an argument over
‘the way you’ve been living your life recently’.
“Look,” you had said, moments before,
“your Dad’s arm is orange!”
A singular appendage in observation,
inbetween breaths.
Busy with anger or wrestling,
your friend is not impressed.
Exit reality and turn left.
An abyss, capable of charm.
Exit reality and turn left!
Exit reality and turn left.
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5. |
chicago soul food
02:24
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6. |
big bay
04:06
|
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waves that roll
back and forth again
back and forth again
back and forth again
on winds that blow
back and forth again
back and forth again
back and forth again
past the bay front
where all the microorganisms grow
candid rearrangements
of all the things that they’re supposed to know.
they forget
that water is wet
and if you tell them,
they become frustrated and upset
but, can you blame them?
they love us so,
clappin’ their hands together
clappin’ their hands together
clappin’ their hand together
they tell us so,
movin’ their lips together
movin’ their lips together
movin’ their lips together.
at low tide
thoughts remind
that you’re surprised
by things you find.
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7. |
cracker cowboy
01:46
|
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I’m The Cracker Cowboy
and I ride the horse
(to round up cows, of course.)
I’m a cracker cowboy
and here I live, in central Florida.
Oh, I find those dogs,
bring ‘em home just because
I’m a cracker cowboy.
well, you may see me on my horse,
(ridin’ through the clouds, of course)
I lived one-hundred fourty years ago.
‘round here, there’s a bar.
you can dance, it ain’t real far.
wear my spurs. tip my hat.
‘cuz I’m a cracker cowboy.
some other cowboys moved out West
but we stayed where we liked it best.
I’m a cracker cowboy, and here I live
in central Florida.
Say, I may head over to that
h-h-honky tonk saloon
and tip back a cold drink.
Whaddya say, partner?
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8. |
bird
03:04
|
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onlookers to a snaggy pine
see a large bundle of colored yarn
and detritus hanging
from one of the upper branches of the tree.
“certainly ceremonial,” they conclude,
and wonder why,
without knowledge that the material
was placed quickly and with charm
by a young woman
capable of making an instant connection to another human being
by looking a their face
and navigating the thin, wooden walls
doors and
window frames
of space.
they knew her simply as ‘bird’.
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9. |
bars
02:58
|
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moths float dark
over rapid waters
or at the park.
they bounce right
on the streetlight.
what are they doin’ up there, anyway?
they’re doing that all night long!
if I were a moth
so say, I would remark,
“float so light
down by the park.”
And SING!
FLAP MY WINGS!
play now, minstrels,
rise and leap!
in turns, the dancers draw the deed
like poison from a snake’s bite, deep.
the whirling circlers must repeat.
pheromones tonight! the band to play
but soon, the night will steal away
with its soft-eyed lover.
they’re hand-in-hand.
these stars like moths
my lungs complain
the dark so deep
they’ll lose their way
as if it were a trajectory you could calculate in any case.
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10. |
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If I was a scientist, I’d be a skeletologist
because I’m always wondering about
the relative thicknesses of
the bones used for surviving love
and the forces and pressures thereon.
and,
If I was a culinist, I’d probably be a baker, ‘cause
I am always pondering
how tempered a heart can become
to feelings in a hot oven.
(and is it any surprise
that yeast can make your heart rise?)
now,
If I worked in publishing, I would be an editor
because I’m quick to revise,
(quite manually,)
perceptions of fear and surprise;
for you’ll close my mouth if I open your eyes.
(so I won’t.)
If I was a musician, I would be a singer
hawkin’ words of no interest to you
and my voice sounds
like it’s mixed with glue.
glup, glup.
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11. |
this too, shall pass
01:10
|
|||
when you feel a change, children, (this is the time!)
look around you.
on the ground (this is the time!)
you place your feet
you may need to make a stand.
this is the time
(this is the time!)
for the gentle, hardy person.
(this is the time!)
Do not be fooled.
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12. |
light eternal
02:20
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the dark of night when the snow should fly
in fleeting flurries that breeze right by
a coat of wool upon my arms
a shot of whiskey to keep me warm.
waltz to the bridge and I’m never coming back and I
waltz to the bridge where the tow-trucks glide
waltz to the bridge and I’m never coming back and I
waltz to the bridge where the tow-trucks glide
waltz to the bridge and I’m never coming back
waltz to the bridge where the tow-trucks glide
waltz to the bridge on that gravel track to find a friend of mine.
ride your bike through the dark of night
in streetlight flurries that alight
unemployed, but so inspired
by rolling pavement you desired.
if I told you that I loved
the coldest day that winter holds
you would know that I’m a liar.
instead, let’s dance through Autumn’s mire.
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Simon Piler Alaska
Write us! We love to get a letter:
Simon Piler and The Atom Band
PO Box 147
Cantwell AK
99729
bluehomerecords (at) protonmail (dot) com
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