William Eaton - Music by William Eaton (1978)
3 years ago
Saturday, July 11, 2009
in an awaiting incoming permission
Looks together another long stifle, it can take some
Days, and earlier still to set into the long whites,
Locked away further behind, this there stop.
Days, and earlier still to set into the long whites,
Locked away further behind, this there stop.
high mana
its all well
but along way down
pushed high and hard
ignoring that the sky shall
break.
from the front line trenches...
let the smoke rise from all and each flame
we have resorted to shock waves on the front lines
which will break 1st the manpower or resources,
if supply shall brake, were in it alone, what if
the front collapses? can we fall back,
will there be space to form, why leave the martyrs here
without picking there torn body's
there's no justification for moral surrender, we need to
push further into their spaces, attrition at all forms,
bullets to the left shoulder, the bayonets ,
i can pear over the rides, we gotten our orders, we shall
advance
across the burning land, the smashing sky, screams of our bothers, rise, from
all the corners, of the soot filled graves,
we shall pile high, our might, and run, cross the gray,
pulsing, i can;t keep the heart form its leaps, not after years, of inside,
the muddy dusk. peal off another layer of burnt-blistered flesh, from the souls of my foot.
at the horizon the flames lick and up close they kiss my forehead, i can't stand away.
visit our homes, i keep a pictures its tinted now, water damage, we sent hope over, the
ridge, no word yet, were going to try and follow suit. maybe we can find the captured
corpse, and give it our proper rights.
but along way down
pushed high and hard
ignoring that the sky shall
break.
from the front line trenches...
let the smoke rise from all and each flame
we have resorted to shock waves on the front lines
which will break 1st the manpower or resources,
if supply shall brake, were in it alone, what if
the front collapses? can we fall back,
will there be space to form, why leave the martyrs here
without picking there torn body's
there's no justification for moral surrender, we need to
push further into their spaces, attrition at all forms,
bullets to the left shoulder, the bayonets ,
i can pear over the rides, we gotten our orders, we shall
advance
across the burning land, the smashing sky, screams of our bothers, rise, from
all the corners, of the soot filled graves,
we shall pile high, our might, and run, cross the gray,
pulsing, i can;t keep the heart form its leaps, not after years, of inside,
the muddy dusk. peal off another layer of burnt-blistered flesh, from the souls of my foot.
at the horizon the flames lick and up close they kiss my forehead, i can't stand away.
visit our homes, i keep a pictures its tinted now, water damage, we sent hope over, the
ridge, no word yet, were going to try and follow suit. maybe we can find the captured
corpse, and give it our proper rights.
deeply there so
let her sit for to the right
of your cheek, no, don't lie
hold it high between your heart
this is not a night, the
sky may always be lost
in shadows deep, but we
skip along the Styx no
longer looking towards any
falling towers up so far and wide.
Be splash; in joys of our
wound fingers tight
under our shard hands
of your cheek, no, don't lie
hold it high between your heart
this is not a night, the
sky may always be lost
in shadows deep, but we
skip along the Styx no
longer looking towards any
falling towers up so far and wide.
Be splash; in joys of our
wound fingers tight
under our shard hands
titer tat
and draw the long bow back
pulling over your eyes.
get it, and make ours another night
for you to pull and hold, out there.
its still not here without your name
to carry, over from all the previous
pulling over your eyes.
get it, and make ours another night
for you to pull and hold, out there.
its still not here without your name
to carry, over from all the previous
The Herald Has Fallen on Deaf; Well the Heavens No Longer Have Wings
Nothing, nothing nothing, and all we can do
is read what is no longer upon the headlines.
Fierce call’s and silly, are all that was mustered,
you could even lock the door so tightly that informants
cannot enter. Till the date is northward, deep into a tundra
the desert is here in its expanse, sitting at home, emptying the kitchen
table, each night. Not far away, we’re still waiting, there’s no rush, always another
sitting day, or play-pretend with whoever may dance. ‘Never settle’-stamps out from upon this boot. All
along; not ever conditions, to layup, at our weary.
Whether in culture stocks or our streets of Tehran, we will not know, or have without, picking our
violences, and wagering its power to illumine a structure; bound the connections and break the crusts.
assemble, in
and out the
the marginal
just not here, not
To those, old, whimpers
nor to the fashionable Modern
halls. Burrow and cages, Inform
what one is to restrict or else,
Be told by occupants.
never so sorry, to have
it out, and look. Peers, not so deep into some whimsical fray, jealoused as ever else, and it’s only a few
too many, even with deep intonation and perpetual appeal the vast will preside, and mundane likeness is
fuelled.
Where else in the far night the bells are not going to sound and no instants remain no, we only must think in such fashioned manors as to appear to live out. In the way of one’s own words, as one is to let speak.
...Is all always so late...
is read what is no longer upon the headlines.
Fierce call’s and silly, are all that was mustered,
you could even lock the door so tightly that informants
cannot enter. Till the date is northward, deep into a tundra
the desert is here in its expanse, sitting at home, emptying the kitchen
table, each night. Not far away, we’re still waiting, there’s no rush, always another
sitting day, or play-pretend with whoever may dance. ‘Never settle’-stamps out from upon this boot. All
along; not ever conditions, to layup, at our weary.
Whether in culture stocks or our streets of Tehran, we will not know, or have without, picking our
violences, and wagering its power to illumine a structure; bound the connections and break the crusts.
assemble, in
and out the
the marginal
just not here, not
To those, old, whimpers
nor to the fashionable Modern
halls. Burrow and cages, Inform
what one is to restrict or else,
Be told by occupants.
never so sorry, to have
it out, and look. Peers, not so deep into some whimsical fray, jealoused as ever else, and it’s only a few
too many, even with deep intonation and perpetual appeal the vast will preside, and mundane likeness is
fuelled.
Where else in the far night the bells are not going to sound and no instants remain no, we only must think in such fashioned manors as to appear to live out. In the way of one’s own words, as one is to let speak.
...Is all always so late...
Down Flowing One May Lay
Where she there
In catacomb
Vail upon her.
Candles all dim
Arms neatly, cold, ivory case
Blessings, handed, on,
And still knelt, across, springs crisping blossoms, darken and fade.
Lightly place ones linens across her breast,
Fingers cross the face,
Eyes to the darker corners of limestone etchings, as stillness breaths deep,
Hailing, the settling dusts upon the still lips and ghost caught cheeks.
Here stifles all hurrah, one will moves a passerby as in silent hymn
In catacomb
Vail upon her.
Candles all dim
Arms neatly, cold, ivory case
Blessings, handed, on,
And still knelt, across, springs crisping blossoms, darken and fade.
Lightly place ones linens across her breast,
Fingers cross the face,
Eyes to the darker corners of limestone etchings, as stillness breaths deep,
Hailing, the settling dusts upon the still lips and ghost caught cheeks.
Here stifles all hurrah, one will moves a passerby as in silent hymn
Stricken by
JUST IN THE MOMENTS BEFORE, AND IT WAS TAKEN
juxtaposed fantasy; nothing to be passioned about or rather nothing is being caught and transposed onto filament, layering upon thoughts, bouncing in between anxieties, which relegate to nothing i can grasp, alternatively that which am trying to agree to. Surely, something is worth a while, and surely, something is to be picked up. To measure any of the rates, or variables seems redundant and excessive, many more my thoughts bore over repetitive dreams. It’s something unlike regular occurrences. Falling back upon, irrelevant points of entry. Staging plots, to veer into snaps, non directions, rather that the goals, are in experiential momentary, bits, fragmented upon aspects which seem to carry an emotion, as contrary to any further down, into other understanding, or information carriers, like conglomerates of nods, the structures, in action with major population movements. Seemingly providing relevance to each aspect that is entrapped by the mode of transportation. In a valley over two hills spatted with jagged greenery either this and then or else the trees which mostly resemble pine, regardless there is a Bavarian wood, to which i have never seen. The image appears, amongst, some desolated passage between villas in some older 19th century, recalling. The steeples might help though honesty i think of rails, and a broken carriage, that takes weeks to travel pass-through the lonely inhospitable passage rather its length if one took foot, would consume all the space, and all the light which could ever be forced out into the world; something about the scope and depth of the vision, blinds reasons, and cares one into a reverse of horizon. Thus, it is where i stand which is invisible, and emptier then any scenic image. And no body, to hold from reference.
juxtaposed fantasy; nothing to be passioned about or rather nothing is being caught and transposed onto filament, layering upon thoughts, bouncing in between anxieties, which relegate to nothing i can grasp, alternatively that which am trying to agree to. Surely, something is worth a while, and surely, something is to be picked up. To measure any of the rates, or variables seems redundant and excessive, many more my thoughts bore over repetitive dreams. It’s something unlike regular occurrences. Falling back upon, irrelevant points of entry. Staging plots, to veer into snaps, non directions, rather that the goals, are in experiential momentary, bits, fragmented upon aspects which seem to carry an emotion, as contrary to any further down, into other understanding, or information carriers, like conglomerates of nods, the structures, in action with major population movements. Seemingly providing relevance to each aspect that is entrapped by the mode of transportation. In a valley over two hills spatted with jagged greenery either this and then or else the trees which mostly resemble pine, regardless there is a Bavarian wood, to which i have never seen. The image appears, amongst, some desolated passage between villas in some older 19th century, recalling. The steeples might help though honesty i think of rails, and a broken carriage, that takes weeks to travel pass-through the lonely inhospitable passage rather its length if one took foot, would consume all the space, and all the light which could ever be forced out into the world; something about the scope and depth of the vision, blinds reasons, and cares one into a reverse of horizon. Thus, it is where i stand which is invisible, and emptier then any scenic image. And no body, to hold from reference.
a putting about face
take court, take measure, we're all needed, to plough the ground, round
and bound our heads, to the sight of nickel pills, and profound, conscription
hedge out the makers, and spill all the slecke, were going to heckle all of the
torment, and highlight each pick, as from the point of origin.
and bound our heads, to the sight of nickel pills, and profound, conscription
hedge out the makers, and spill all the slecke, were going to heckle all of the
torment, and highlight each pick, as from the point of origin.
Relative Absolution
wing it and be hung,
that could once upon our
more, let bygone hold my eye
to your form, in place, of a little
sigh that formed deep in the cave
of breast and fell flat upon the counter belt.
that could once upon our
more, let bygone hold my eye
to your form, in place, of a little
sigh that formed deep in the cave
of breast and fell flat upon the counter belt.
Brunch is a shiraz
in there the hours, have a lacking, which could untidy even the neatest of bound hair,
placed upon the light cyan band, walking head down along isles
flip more coins, to the ground, pick up more lint on the skyline,
break, more of the motions, in commissioned, talk, shout, out the balcony
you can’t afforded to keep on. No, let the words; be carried away, down to
losing the sure, figured outcomes; convenient is another consumable.
there are no citizens
left, to speak worlds to.
placed upon the light cyan band, walking head down along isles
flip more coins, to the ground, pick up more lint on the skyline,
break, more of the motions, in commissioned, talk, shout, out the balcony
you can’t afforded to keep on. No, let the words; be carried away, down to
losing the sure, figured outcomes; convenient is another consumable.
there are no citizens
left, to speak worlds to.
A few moments is all
An i can azeria-yatar
From thro of
And i can azy tar from iur sky
And i can’t i’z it ay from the lips
From thro of
And i can azy tar from iur sky
And i can’t i’z it ay from the lips
Wearial
In the time there’s always, a single sprinkle acting upon
The grounds, which we travel. Covering, our steps.
The grounds, which we travel. Covering, our steps.
of Casualties and Lost
Cages, holy caged, where is thy good souls flight from the towers, we could not build,
From island we could not sail, our insignias are not flapping, in the cold summer breeze
And each day takthing, more, time to curl around, wriggling into the souls spot,
Found to be; already dead, with the redemptionless guilt
From island we could not sail, our insignias are not flapping, in the cold summer breeze
And each day takthing, more, time to curl around, wriggling into the souls spot,
Found to be; already dead, with the redemptionless guilt
Re-sound
Oh they would know,
Oh it would be something less than, the spectacles on your
Cracked nail, that i should have kissed, but, behind the tempo,
squeaks, stretched out, believe, and be born, take hold, in
an alternate peace, we forfeit. Hoshana, oh Hoshana; we say.
Oh it would be something less than, the spectacles on your
Cracked nail, that i should have kissed, but, behind the tempo,
squeaks, stretched out, believe, and be born, take hold, in
an alternate peace, we forfeit. Hoshana, oh Hoshana; we say.
Some sounds,
Some sounds,
a chariots glace and iron tentacles.
ponder, in tranquil retreat, overtures measure out along the
unimaged garden, locked upon a path, steep incline, away from the courtyard, were no nobles are left, to
inspect, and realize, nor, is the steeple set to tune, the oases, with meta-astral cognition,
The emptied stream’s sediments, are no longer rambled about by contending flows,
Toiling, is left far away from, emancipation of achievements, layered out, by reaping idler hearts.
the wishes, no longer confess, inner pardons, and engagements with lost souls, carried off for
indeterminate departures, mixed, fevers, and aching hopes.
a chariots glace and iron tentacles.
ponder, in tranquil retreat, overtures measure out along the
unimaged garden, locked upon a path, steep incline, away from the courtyard, were no nobles are left, to
inspect, and realize, nor, is the steeple set to tune, the oases, with meta-astral cognition,
The emptied stream’s sediments, are no longer rambled about by contending flows,
Toiling, is left far away from, emancipation of achievements, layered out, by reaping idler hearts.
the wishes, no longer confess, inner pardons, and engagements with lost souls, carried off for
indeterminate departures, mixed, fevers, and aching hopes.
As they are
Wakening as they are
Chattering incessantly as they are
Near death as they are
Can’t speek as we are
Until please as they are
One wishes away
Beating the hands,
Until eternal flickers pounce
Upon here all after
As times clasp...
Chattering incessantly as they are
Near death as they are
Can’t speek as we are
Until please as they are
One wishes away
Beating the hands,
Until eternal flickers pounce
Upon here all after
As times clasp...
Holes in the brown coal ember
cold
among the waste
blood welts bloom
shifts creep entertwining
upon the body surface
and slide under.
and drains, along the interior
visibly shaking down on
the core ruptured.
among the waste
blood welts bloom
shifts creep entertwining
upon the body surface
and slide under.
and drains, along the interior
visibly shaking down on
the core ruptured.
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