1. |
Checkout
02:21
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The curtains remind alcoholics of church
Alcoholics remind the room that there is no revolution outside
The parking lot coughs travelers up through the late morning
With bad land water on their face
By noon this thought finally finishes
Like upright last words
Four months of a slowing solo
You know it’s over
When a gangster admits that he doesn’t know
History is funny when visualized at noon
Two noons to a flight to a trench
A dust cloud of human form
Mostly arms
Flesh and smoke
Bored and nowhere
And nice time
And nickel genocide
Peaceful oddities
Like the two years before Europe lands
Or earth tone weapon handles
Pages in a projectile’s life
Run the air
Over arms
And nice times
And every bucket genius I know
Conversations in stone colors
See monuments to circus
Clown debates
Clowns who kill for nickel
And nowhere
And nice time
See fights on busses and planes
Worn down routes
Worn thin passengers
Police who have never done one good thing in their tenure
Not one good thing in their tenure
Yes
Police are teachers who fifth graders remember
More than spelling
See human rights in stone colors
Under a noon angle
And nice time
And noon
And nowhere
Two from flight
All funny to me
Lead teeth to copper glory
1980s sky
over life that is plenty and cheap
blood bubble
get money
miss the road already
wretched 40 years outdoors
battling landmarks and flag rope
the poor man’s conscience
eats scraps and ambulance IVs
free ketchup for the people
pennies on a hotel table
remind me of 1980s martyrs
when I’m a few hours
from gone
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2. |
Empty Spaces
01:48
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i been thinkin about this picture i want to draw
it's going to have vacant hands, still feared
it's gonna have pain with empty spaces
tools that choose us
it's gonna have catchy violence
someone will be poor and alone
african born
there will be the way
the gathering
the gun handle
the palm where the gun feels protected, then speaks
empty space
an un-played build
more hands
purple
grey scent that can be seen
me in no more
implied piano
it tilts
top right corner there's gonna be a red figure
yellowing space
an ancient woman presented in four faces
street sign maybe
street light maybe
an ancient man presented in shoulders
it's gonna have the woman i love
lower left corner, a blue horn
yellowing space
no moon
a gangster maybe
eyes that are earlier than comprehension
to these eyes love is sacred, but only a baby
to these eyes all of the rest drifts
brown with veins
black with fingers
empty space
eyes presented in generations
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3. |
16th flr. Guinness
03:05
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New York because I said so
A day of minutes
Seconds like leaves
Like leaves are disloyal city characters
In brittle congregations
Near shelter dirt and department store cigarette breaks
Stale Irish brew peels the white
Away from mid morning eyes
Already three lies awake
To make matters worse
Our hearts are broken
Next morning our story starts more specific
Hearts don’t matter here
Tiled grogginess
Tiling grogginess
Slow flying gutter puddle
Accompanies a man’s cage walk
Defines his punch line altitude
This building works hard
This building works the same job for three generations
This building works as long as epochs
Produce money and minstrels
One third of this building does not know that it is a third
It woke up groggy
We want to get high
Imagine meaningless water
Imagine orphans making a pact to never have kids
Imagine going to work
This is our first sip
Who knew that concrete would play such a big part in ecological facts
And that mid morning eyes would leak surprise and hate laughter
Overcrowded
The emotion of conspiracy
And toy property rights
There are only two kinds of people in this world
One kind owes you money
Category rooftops
Capitalism stands flamboyant in lines that wrap around waterfronts
People pass through
Cadillac swimmer and children who walk on water
That building means margin
Half block toy shelf
Gladiator industry
The nothing business
The nobody
There’s a figure in the window
Why does it always look nervous?
The 5 train has pillowcases through out its Franklin Ave Station
Subway station police remind me of pillowcases
Soundless playground
This 3am train
Childish economics
In full self portrait enthusiasm
In vulnerable slumps
We race whistling tracks
To some cousin of health
This is your city
Your underground
This anonymously high floor
Became a friend that doesn’t know me
A writer’s mountain
Where lineage collapses its span
Into your girlfriend’s cigarette
Also where strangers
Lend me temper
And proletariat lunch
Arms between bricks and midtown fantasy
A manic border
Sort of back then
Enemies
Will not
See each other
Later
In
America’s heaven
New york
Because I said so
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4. |
Heaven is all Goodbyes
04:53
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Biko and I are driving in an empty cell lane
We are God’s evil to these settlers
They might throw us under the shift change
We take wolf naps
We don’t know what else we good at
Besides this traveling
Stateliness in a night tide
Passing through beach head America
Passing with hurricane memory
Three thousand exits of sludge bathed apartheid
Everything south of Canada
Is extrajudicial gun oil
And your local unemployment factory
In a few hours we will fit in
relax for now
Hop out the car
And I am a dirty shoe illusion
Leaning on the trunk with the ghosts of switch blades
And other rusty services
I am enemy humor
And traveling
ashes on the back seat
Behind his two sons
In a lane not for metaphor
Well maybe a metaphor for something unfinished
One million hands passing us through the Midwest
Last wishes
By way of fish tail
Daydreams
By way of collisions
Home in the bad lands of translation
Relaxed passing
Great grandparent’s finger bones
Father’s ashes
No longer arms
Just tattoos
Bad land imagination
Barreling
Translating a father’s last trip home
We don’t know what else we good at besides this traveling
Exits in collage
Exits in pieces
Pieces of 1970s kitchen plates
In a good luck refrigerator
We still aint ate
Feeling the narcotic swing
Of how we see yesterday
Hop out the car
Against desperate white supremacy
Gas station greetings
Stray dogs
And other earth-born alarms
We are stray deadly
Against desperate white supremacy
And other senses
That die silly
And have murdered
Ashes traveling
Two coins
Or the toll is us
In a few hours we will fit in
character interstate
On a journey of a million parallels
Barreling like gut born love songs
Your ancestors
laughing as we pass the time
When we ride
It’s language
Past Gary 3000
Caster iron lining
Proud forearms for vulture’s meal
More gut born love songs
Sam Greenly please say more
We don’t know what else we good at
Besides this traveling
Three man ghost story
Fishers of ourselves
Cards dealt
Narrative implied
Something unfinished
Like an Indiana hurricane
Or two midnights in Milwaukee
Or no arms
No tattoos
No Chicago
Ever again
We don’t know what else we good at besides this traveling
And besides
Heaven is all good byes anyway
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5. |
Internationalism
02:57
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This night feels the same to Tall Baby
as he watches winos that are dressed as rattle snakes
all in a cocky holocaust
that is too young to dress down
around here
citizens eat the chaser
and prove tha they got revenge
by their store counter rapport
there are new loads
of baby teeth shipped daily
the working class is in heaven
over but ignoring miles and miles of their work
this every kind of yard knows
this night feels the same
rattle snakes near spit and wine
Tall Baby fishes for lighter
and sees no leaders
sees a mother
the first sabbath
after losing her son
walk and weeze
everywhere is blades
with soundless imagination
streets die then smile
Tall Baby nods once
thinks of heaven
a look to the left will have to do
because you never look up
when you're near spit and wine
and the rich man's eager
Tall Baby thinks
same shit different decorations
Tall Baby shoots back
the skyline has gone sideways
roof tops have become gun barrels
there will never be cover again
millions surrender
Tall Baby's walls only talk about
hinges in times of Holocaust
on free trade sabbath
skyline returns to its feet
on a free trade sabbath
skyline marches
puts boot to fracture
babies in heaven
the real heaven
over red and shanty
ignoring nothing
this every kind of yard knows
on a free trade sabbath
skyline returns to first world
somewhere in a shipping company state
Tall Baby talks to gates
he's had no face for months
as self taught city says
only whites are welcomed
that city is a proud bastard still
when Tall Baby Returns
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6. |
Hollywood
02:03
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california fiction as experienced the first 20 minutes away
a damned steel garden of tombs and countdowns
hollywood as experienced the first twenty minutes away
let's go outside and test our looks against the locals
fight the urge to dropkick their anorexic lapdogs, literally
all i remember from the last time was a pool table, a righteous record,
and a prostitute who almost took me to the movie
oh, and a velvet rope made into uzi rounds
bring anything to a LA fight
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LOAN San Francisco, California
Founded in 2012, SF Bay Area duo LOAN pairs the revolutionary poetry of Tongo Eisen-Martin with music by multi- instrumentalist Chris Peck the Town Crier. "Blue Phase" is LOAN's second release, and their first full-length album. It features guest appearances by Biko Eisen-Martin, Miriam Speyer and Eli Carlton-Pearson. ... more
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