1. |
WOODSTOMPER
01:23
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|
She opened the door
Said "hey fuckers"
Big wave, palm of my hand
I feel comfort
Boys in the bedroom
With dorito dust fingers
You think things are weird
Well we revel in it
Too many last nights before
To keep track of
And I don’t feel any different
Three years
Crowding hallways, bathroom haircuts
Crisis in 40 land before dinner with your parents
Tessellating across your hardwood floor in
The shape of another night’s long indecision
Horizontal in the slow-waning fever of post-summer
I’m fine down here
And if I feel fine I won’t worm or worry
My way out of it
Too many last nights before
To keep track of
And I feel…
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2. |
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…late October morning reaching in her bedroom
Fragile steps around the broken bed
He heard a rhythm he couldn’t
Make sense of
No pattern –
Friends spat out one by one
Draped across her hall
And Morning ripples
Lengthens shadows and I’m
Rising from the middle of
A three-crowded twin bed
To coax him from the bathroom tile
Slog an hour through the city of notions
Aftermath of
The best picture taken
Queued slanted
Push off the washer
Into the splitting sky or so lost
From the river vantage when I end up alone
Show’s over; I’m opaque again
Laundry steam dousing a pocket yard
Collecting voices rise from the stairwell:
“Hey man, where’d you go?”
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3. |
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We missed it by a little
And that’s my bad
Rhode Island, everything else
It all seemed fake
Roll around your
hollow room
Late August
Wrapped in white strings
Pretty good at guitar now
Taste your own _____.
I don’t know where you’ll be when spring comes
I’m wide awake but I feel like I’m talking in my sleep
Always unannounced, I’m just outside your door
On a train to the sea and
Shallow corners of a tremoring basement
Come up for air and find
Your hottest friend in the parking lot
In unwinding
Spring shot across the country
Red-faced in a Rose kitchen
I wouldn’t be the same without you
I wouldn’t be the same
I don’t know where you’ll be when spring comes
I’m wide awake but I feel like I’m talking in my sleep
Always unannounced, I’m just outside your door
Pick up your phone
Where should I meet you?
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4. |
SIX-THREE-FIVE
01:53
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Resonance wanes:
I’m in a familiar bank of quavering strings
On a transformation of feelings
With solace in a bed by the window
Uprooted and thrown over cascades
On a transformation of stasis
With solace in a call from your time zone
There are friends good enough to do nothing with
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Friend From Home Seattle, Washington
Matt and Isabelle wrote these songs with super-producer Quinky Jones.
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