wasthisthefacethatlaunchedtenthousandships? - untitled. | Текст песни

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• wasthisthefacethatlaunchedtenthousandships?
• untitled.

he mountains and
alley
facing my window
put up their palms,
not to petition mercy,
but exasperation:
“the wind sings pretty songs
and the trees all dance along
but we are bound”
and i respond:
“i want a
cigarette”
crossing our fingers as you
spoke,
you and i
were androgynous, apocryphal
a terrifying metronome:
open on all sides, not knowing
not caring
at all
all the pretty things that
embroider the castellated trail
left by your
fingers on my countertop
have gone away,
leaving little but
apostrophe and
a petition.
so we dance into
shoeboxes and
thrust our palms into
gloves or pockets
preparing for
minutes of
piercing
scalding
cognition
i told you last night
that if you locked yourself in a box for six months,
the last thing you would miss would be me.
and you grinned (it spanned the width of delaware) as you said:
“the wind is not the least of our fears,
and trees are not the walls of illium anymore”,
a sentiment that echoed into every backseat crossing over the colorado border. the rain outside your front door is a map-maker, tracing silhouettes as kavan and i left your house for the very last time, and all our terrible deeds were undone
and
all your imperfections were unmade. if you were an apple or a rose petal or a bent nail or a lyric you would lose twice your value and all of your flavor. prettiness, fleshy cunt and all. we counted off silence like beats in a symphony, and
slowly, cassandra crept out from behind the altar
and slowly fourteen bullets ripped her apart,
each one a grace note,
speaking, singing:
“oh god oh god oh god”
running through our friends with plastic knives
burning hair and
slipping in priam’s sons
hope is the greatest of evils
and we are just attention
i was looking for you
in the surface of
my photograph paper;
i could only see my
reflection.
and i’ve been alone for the last year,
but if you could see
how much i’ve changed
in the last four days
i swear you’d be proud of me.
and i think i know what it means
to say “a man’s room is his kingdom”
culled and called, a
canyon holding vigil over
strip clubs and strip malls
makes haste to his position;

the candlelight murmurs that
he is late, five minutes too long
but we are so certain of everything

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