Meatmachine.info

An affiliation,
of bone muscle and cord,
a heart beats unaware;
for no limb, no love.
The whole communicating
only hunger and debt,
but I’m not
listening anymore.

When you ask me,
for what won’t be the last time today,
“when are you going to come home?”
With your eyes that cut
through me like a ghost in the way,
and your voice as low as a thunder roll.

The summer comes from behind,
like an old friend you’d forgotten
and you can’t trust
anything he says nowadays.
The cottonwood chaff floats down and
it reminds me of snowfall,
but this California,
we’ll have none of that here.

MP3.