And here's a poem that is yet to make it into a song.
Churn
Amongst the hedgerows an incessant buzzing
Is bold and close just like it were nothing more
Than an old tape recorder, thrown, and now nestling,
Bothering air with crunch crunch melodies.
Unreal illumination flattens our curves
We sit, idle we sit, taking sweet time
On our quivering beaks like viscous, oozing nectar.
Racing thoughts arrive and prompt me to ask:
Why should the trees strive to exist
Why do the birds explode from their innards
At the sound...that...(let us not speak of that).
Bird-spitting branches—fluttering capillaries.
Mother Nature balances everything
And this is how it is—no trembling now—
This is how your death balances new life. Nature
Like all our artists faces terminals
Where her ability is unduly grounded:
There where caprice breeds personality,
Where everything ceases, because the just
Keep to what is theirs (so tyrants are just).
Ka-Ata-Killa brings singing memories
Folding, unfolding, with the block rhythm.
Kala-chu says the river, greeting her gladly.
She does not reuse, but soft, soft alia
She plants in a row with argentinous seeds,
The healing herb that shudders in between teeth
That are grown long: anomalies, automatic
In their taking, forgetting to shine out.
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