1. |
||||
the path was lost, in a suffused barrage, of dark brackish water, and coarse pale rope pulling east. I could trace every shard of a broken atom, back to the wilting arrows of an oaken compass, and still not know the names of our mothers, or the tired opus nested in the opalescent hands of a grave and unwavering forbear. Steadfast as nothing. Oblivion nothing more than a collapsing foal, in the wake of some cruel and gratuitous arrow.
|
||||
2. |
Dissension of the Cornea
03:57
|
|||
and when they come for us, i will lay you down at the mouth of the river, and dismantle the knots and vestiges in the deepest cavities of your chest. The day has met its crux. Though my back is weary with sediment and shadow, i will carry you. Oh great machinery i will carry your pale iron shell as if the patterns of its framework, made up the ridges of my very spine. No thought of Semblance, straying from her pane, a barrage of steel and cold welded plaster. In her arms she carried a doe, and though its hide remained unscathed it dwelt in a fleeting season. Lay the figure at my feet, i embraced its splintering frame. Father to nothing, son to no one, love is lost, love is gone. As the cornea descends into the broad steel landscape, eyelids forced open, desertion it festers, no resonance.
|
||||
3. |
||||
it was in the last hour of our departure that i named you, the pines stood bare and brittle, as we are torn from hearth and tinder. Like the jutting sills of a windowless house, like our sunken frames shaped to caravels. To know the salt that lingers beneath the tide, to know the harsh devastation the new day brings to quiet things. To know that you will love the three legged foul that rests just beyond our chasm, and that i will bury its bones when the day has met its crux.
|
||||
4. |
||||
i felt its reeds grow thin, the oars splintering. feeble shades of a scarlet reverie. Soft as skin in the faint exposure, sun spots on the fraying film. I forgave the daggers dulling blade, and the absence it left. And i forgave you, and the hull burning. This was not our fault. My throat laden with stone. My palms soaked to the bone. I watched with swollen eyes and broken feet, as a solitary doe strayed from her dwelling, bowed her head, and crawled into the sea. The uninhabitable remains of a broken chest cavity.
|
If you like Endciv, you may also like:
Bandcamp Daily your guide to the world of Bandcamp