1. |
Lore
02:27
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To work on our great problem, I immersed myself in lore.
At first I expected answers, but soon felt questions pouring
from my mouth like crystal water from an underground spring,
and I found that to discover you must master discarding.
So divest yourself of knowledge if you really want to know.
Calmly burn your learning, and call the void in tow.
Step firmly in the darkness, never waiting on a sign.
The payments here are easy; the only burden is light.
My wisdom is a blindfold
.
The day I do as I’m told, that’s the only kind of freedom I know.
A paradox survives what would kill a purebred truth.
Uncertain like the hero who wants the victim’s death as proof.
And in impossible conclusions you can see the face of God,
like impressions made through paper long since gone to rot.
Synthetic words once crafted are the ingredients of lies,
and yet the word of a greater creature forms the essence of your life.
I threw all my weight upon it, but the boulder wouldn’t move.
I lifted my hand and closed my eyes and heard it crashing through.
My wisdom is a blindfold
.
The day I do as I’m told, that’s the only kind of freedom I know.
That’s the only kind of freedom at all.
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2. |
Lips of a Child
01:45
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Betrayed by a black gulf at the end of my desk,
the wall folds, the night peers at my noondust face.
My phone rang “unknown,” but I still answered it.
A long barrel pencil; fine ink from a case.
A carol seeps in from the near office park.
Seasons are shifting like a viewfinder toy.
Faster, it spins in the patented shape,
suddenly flashing redemptive Tolstoy.
And the image of death is playfully wise,
born of cliches like “twinkling eyes.”
Those who behold it withhold their advice.
And the man on the phone made a promise of wealth.
I gave him my faith and security code.
Asked after his family and felt the ground did shake.
Disasters eclipsed me—oh, lo and behold.
And the terror of age is relentlessly kind,
bringing us closer to the day we die.
It’s medicine forced past the lips of a child.
Bringing us closer.
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3. |
Jesuit
02:39
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Wanted it like a Jesuit,
but I acted more like a merchant.
Put my faith in it, the old scratch-and-sniff,
kind of interesting until it faded.
Gave up confidence for a trust in man,
the sword I forged from my circumstance.
Had to sheathe it quick, I was shaking bad;
couldn’t cut a thing except for my left hand.
Now give me a mask, and I will take a role,
but understand underneath there’s no face, just a skull.
Bone only changes when force is applied.
Hey, at least I tried.
All-in-all, I enjoyed myself.
Spending dough like I was someone else.
And in the end, you know, I kind of felt
like I was.
The way we carried on, someone might have thought
we were expert actors in the naive arts.
You whispered, “I pulled myself apart.”
As for me, these words were just a start.
Now give me a mask, and I will take a role,
but understand underneath there’s no face, just a skull.
Bone only changes when force is applied.
Hey, at least I tried.
You can hear it if you listen close.
The silver screen, classic scene, whispering ghosts.
But one look and they’ll disappear.
Truth be told, they were never here.
Now give me a mask, and I will take a role,
but understand… it’s a skull.
Bone will change if force is applied.
Hey, at least I tried.
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4. |
In Silk
02:27
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We're both born to live big beneath the scaleable moon.
It’s gigantic when you’re wealthy, brother that time’s coming soon.
I watched you ship boots down to cobblers’ row,
where she fired your suits and she hammered your sole.
And I want you to know it’s our season of growth,
a stereo, expletive, stimulant broth
that you brought to my door (and you offered three taps),
when the creeper, hysteria, wisteria trap
got you stuck with a snap! and I wrap and I wrap
you in silk, ‘cause you’re not coming back,
but I won’t let you die.
You’re in silk.
I remember the night she compelled you to stop,
and you opened your mouth, but then something got caught
in your throat, like a moth with incredible wings—
designs like a galaxy under frozen springs.
And instead of addressing your love like you meant to,
you turned to me voicing the sorrow of men, you
said, “Your friendship rocks like a boat in a storm,
and I can’t recall if I sink or I float.
I was magic back then, but I’m not anymore.”
All the while, so afraid you might die.
You’re in silk.
Two merchants at sea, we struck a bargain.
“I’ll forgive you each time, if you save me a dollar.”
It isn’t a fable, and it isn’t my problem.
Why remember the money that’s best left forgotten,
when there’s still silk?
Yeah, there’s still silk.
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5. |
Bitter
03:26
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I wouldn’t call them “bitter,”
but yes she sheds her tears at night.
She shakes hands with society dowager culturati,
finding shapes in overlapping lines.
Pigment crushed; black wings painted
in the corners of her eyes.
Sober of mind, she’s ill defined
by a list to the left, a list to the right.
I take her home in my carriage,
and let her sleep in my soulless gallery,
believe she’ll see come morning
the statue heads lined up like rosary beads.
Fortune, bravery, beauty, stupidity,
no mystery which outlasts the other three.
A student’s mind is broken;
a fool feels security.
It isn’t bitter. It isn’t sweet.
Nothing to savor. Nothing to eat.
The freedom question paramount,
it’s shackles that give you that.
Or if not shackle, perhaps I’ll say that
it’s a very narrow path.
If you wiggle and spin, got room to breathe,
you know you’ll only find the same.
She says, “The disciple of following is
another way to play the game.
Every day her art crumbles in her hand,
but what if nothing here is really lost?
After all, order created today, only creates future chaos.
Believe us, we’ve been there, we’ve felt that blow,
the curse that means words must make up the flow,
when they’re inadequate, approximate, intermediate.
We know.
It isn’t bitter. It isn’t sweet.
Nothing to savor. Nothing to eat.
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Matthew Allred Twin Falls, Idaho
Matthew Allred is a Renaissance Artist interested primarily in novel-writing, but also visual arts, other creative writing, and of course--making music. As a musician, Allred is primarily interested in creating unique moments and emotions that mix the familiar with the unknown. ... more
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Good stuff. NYP download. How could you go wrong?
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