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by mourning dove

Taken 01:05
Call 04:41
Away 02:12
Around 06:59
Wore 03:26
While 13:18
a lock of hair i cannot say the you if i were to say you whose kindnesses are particular, cannot be exhausted who dares the audience along in every conversation which then severs language into the familiar and unwelcome. i cannot tell you you are lost as though it were the fault of the spring in coming so late- overheated, willed by dreams where thinking is flying and there is always someone to get away from not an escape but sadness so thick we could get (as threatened) on the freight which was just beyond those january trees as seen from the rehabilitation center in 2016- were you ever alone that year, you said you wanted to be alone that year? you stayed through the sun’s long silences, these that spilled through windows of which there were so many in that prison of yourself which was profound you imagined being taken out of your body, hoped for it every night but to be on earth, it is to pretend, there are things to do here as though this the city which has a fractured council and overlooks that river wasn’t the universe’s thoughts all condensed where time has its own station, you might leave your feeling towards me outside the door where a stray animal recognizes a few bloodied objects that could be me, a squirrel, or you expired as simple as the sun at this roadside does that vulture still walk unbalanced in the wood in pursuit i could, maybe, forget you, in the coming years i might not be thinking or taken up by others who live curiously in the backgrounds of old films anonymous and now passed on like the grandson of a statesman who sank opiates in a shamed solitude we are dead, which is many things. which is to walk from my empty dark house to your empty dark house in the early hours before the light changes and to sit in silence as we never do. because living makes you so afraid while i am reasoned sad and regardless care for too many things as you do putting all these syllables into boxes to be found again in the evening, the insect orchestra will descend you can put these summer berries on your plate and eat them you can while away this night and tomorrow’s too you may be looking for me in these dreams but i cannot be looking for you. i am the ghost itself which is motionless and can be felt only when it moves from one room to the next in devotion to a love long since extinguished or when i put a lock of hair in this envelope and pitch it into the matanzas. as the lights burn on, unfelt in some lonely corner of the world in some starry corridor it leads nowhere but from one dream to another i am not sure i’ll ever be able to pass time very well as my grandmother who is never bored there is no lyricism in this spring, blossoming all the sweet boys are so full of shame if you look them in the eyes, not even when we walk the garden at sundown where once he sobbed with these doorways which open and open to wide green lawns of short thick grasses, and the marble pillars between which once we lay open to the world which when it became ours was useless. it is like taking a walk with you though it has been so long and it would be so hard really to- take a walk- with you- whereupon i dreamt that i was telling you of a dream i had in which i was meant to give you a lock of my hair.
Given 08:40
given all i can think of is your don't worry these himalayan slopes they won’t know me nor that very lake of liepnitzsee where once absolved by this or that river surrendered to that my distant relatives await at the schonbrunn i advise you to, to wait eventually you too will have no blood or make your own i am in no hurry when this wind carries itself - wherein, my grandmother is still alive wherein, these cherry trees, the cat, the dog grandfather takes the photograph- this is, i guess, the most natural eternity as if heaven were too crude this france is even mild, but for this winter breeze my aunt waving to someone, perhaps us, in the distance given, many ubiquitous aunts convince me i am living in the dream of the world this fabric (of the real) is surely uneven you made the whole bloody when i thought it made of light and words and sound no flesh involved, nothing tires like matter- "to be made of" your sorry only incriminates you further send your apologies somewhere better to some sky or landscape as even i do this time i cannot answer you- though i wish i could settle your unease- simply send your ships over the edge of the earth.. did yerevan treat you well? after your decade of adulthood, you still had the faraway in you while my dearest love had no memory not of ancestral loss, not of blood even, no, he grew white in the corridors of the city lodged along potomac, still i think there is some song that he is made of. my dear friend writes from tehran lost in the white fog of the snow, thick with glorious horrors you find green frames, illusory war. an invitation to come and i promise i will.
Tear 02:13
Will 03:59
Drawing 01:23
Bathwater 03:42
Letters 04:45
the purgatory of a nice day the infinite beach that encircles the small pond: they are made of similar, kind gestures: one come from providence, in the car, and the boy with the dog, the ax, the canoe his father who will walk on the logging trail, maybe build a shelter in this junk universe he has created: handy, the forks and golf poles and fire trucks and so forth, the landed boats and wrecked cars, electricity is some enemy, that part is true. i cannot sleep well the night and wake to this pale color- astonished- (the bleeding out of the chipmunk's eyes, in the dog's mouth)- that it seems neither night or day, but soon color drawn in by the dawn as if summoned by the smoke of the past evening- (this forever rowing against the waves made of a clearness that turns to black)- foliage gains texture again is this some longest day of summer? blank hours illusory, to want for not wanting, for sleep. some posted letters to strangers, some conversation. all these beautiful scenes, you know- if only i were gone more just for the purpose of then missing.
Evening 01:38
Gaze 04:54
gaze i’m losing my facility hopefully some latent island or geography out from me, given the ghost feeling a place i could wander from time to time i think of you relinquishing i may have some odd pauses where that feeling lives so that you are not touched by it space and or amends with her. in her many waverings my worry i was not long time sitting by the river not wanting to move, leave the like forested realms the banks along blue as sky water i don't not appreciate this loss probably a river runs - You can at any time, release yourself from my gaze, with the blinds half-open so I could gaze into the street outside through the branches of the tree. , I liked the fight, the fight to pull away from, the fight against my urge to pull away from, to still bestow- what was it?- A gaze... I did not like to touch. But also nothing, a coldness, a thought, a goodbye, an "oh well"- she kissed me goodbye in the morning while I was half asleep, knowing I would not return, not in this way. I worry- as I later tell you- that a long gaze will faze you I was not reluctant to meet your steady gaze which held shunted back and forth between schemas as easily as a passenger gazing upon the world through plexiglass, happy to be one more anonymous soul The thing kept falling apart and before I realized it I was just standing there gazing down yet another stairway. At the end there was an unimatable blue light as if from a television that had been left on and suddenly, I was convinced that there was a ghost in that downstairs room- this is before I knew that the stair did not lead to a basement that she had never been to, but to a room I had in fact, recently left through another exit. I knew then that there was a ghost in that basement room and that the ghost was watching television as sort of a late night treat and it was best not to disturb him. my gaze from the dim thunder of the surf nightbirds circle us as we turn the bend in the road and the moon gazes upon There was sort of a dead silence as we sat on the porch between abandoned beer cans from the music show that had happened hours before. I gazed across at the laundromat, its sign lit, luminous, glowing in the distance from the lot across the road. It probably was not just that three am silence- though it was occurring. You avoid one another's gaze. She would gaze over one side of the bed with her head on her hands so as to look at me. “Why are your arms up”, she said, "as if you are upset?” My gaze was met All my life I look into others’ eyes and I see dark windows, I see a dumb reflection and nothing more. But this time, there was a presence, there was someone real on the other side. And in that gaze, how he grappled with me, how he grappled at my heart and fought at my mind and spoke little or nothing at all, really, probably nothing, but he told me something in an instant, something without words gaze upon the silent film of human beings in their depthless trance of circumstance My symbols are benevolent and hard. I could send you on your way full of apology. You should see anyone that you can gift with that deep gaze. I know that we meet before the beginning of all things again on this very slip of shore
It Rained 18:04
it rained the day is long the lake, wide. this shallow water: you have come to see me/i hardly see you. all day i expect rain; did you send these pictures when we did not know each other so i might keep them somewhere long enough for you be revealed, some treasure or are lockets for strangers before the feeling comes? remember when we talked only of others, until i felt some dark tremor, a precursor to the rain that has already come? i might go from room to room, hiding in some alcove i think as you pass by so i can watch without expression and look and look and look. i have, yes, great neutrality towards you. you want to be like some great river i talk about? she that is beyond love, that river, the dear river, and if i felt a grand indifference as she does towards me, towards you? i can hardly eat or sleep these days/ in a way, neither can you: but soon you will make your bed again, a cartoon blessing like the small rubber animals, their silhouettes in the sun turn serious. you come into my house to seduce my friend? please come into my house, seduce my friend one day she will wear roses in her hair, what will you wear if you don't both escape this happy exposure- i have returned to the dock yes, here now, i'll be your stranger give you a bowl of rice and avocado if you cry i will bear witness (and these heavens too) when you cry, it begins to rain the day that had darkened finally breaks. i wish it broke so deep that the whole world came into being. my life has not lately been such a terrible shame. in this one regard only (always i had the storied light of evening and the first foretelling of autumn that old home and the unknown my lover the sky, where i like to imagine i belong). as in, then my skin was formed i thought of what i suffered through those hills, i was deeply glad to know of something so immense. once, yes, i walked through that farmhouse dreaming and the dog howled through the night and remember there are four staircases, but only one for the ghost) yours is like a sculpture, i have great affinity but also this fatal touch: you might think i am not terrible (these vast rifts i think could be so kind), but you too in this seemingly unbearable i love to bear it, bear it all. relinquish anything, but i do not have no spine. maybe it is brave to forget yourself, deep tide of doubt, maybe you come to the surface on the wave of some kind thought, a return to you then/something true then. if i didn't know to swim, i'd say "all bodies rise to the surface, living or dead most are not identifiable." i was always glad to find someone who could meet my eyes. i will come out of this water glad to tease and shiver- i might live and die of myself (and so many stories)- to me, you are: i would spend some time in a room. i would spend some time in a room. i would spend some time in a room and tell me you care about something other than i/it rained when you began to cry. i don't know you, i cannot know you, i am so intensely glad to know you, to care, i know nothing. one day, i might revisit you like a place bringing gifts from faraway, indefensibly, i might use your name. would you forgive my dreams? after all, i only have dreams. i might take you up (only if you were- often i wish you would come to me- asking) is every invitation a secret sacrifice burnt into the sweet smoke of the day as the lifted haze of this infinite mourning, in your wake i will surely take a walk. don't comfort me, i feel as mild and abstruse as the wind that blew the canoe back across the pond. i would rather you have granted some fiercer suffering simply so i might hang it up and arrange the notes, we all need something to do. i would commit myself to anything so long as it was, beautiful. i also cannot vindicate you, hold you up in any way except to the light as settles across the smudged work of evening, i hope you wake in the day knowing your own always, that you slip into your own room, but someday come back out again to stand alone looking at what beauty the world has offered us.
Reunion 02:41
reunion no one was overcome here. just like you, i get to be no angel, but the way i open you up like a miracle in the wood "look at me, knowing i've never been seen by anyone', her saying the moment was breakable, me knowing she meant it was holy, holding that cup of tea in the next afternoon. this it is too beautiful to be alive in: i could hear the children loud lit by daylight birdsong and at night the reflection running through the stream, you love this water that takes your secrets back to me so i can overlook them thinking always of something else, these lovers that come to me now, not knowing i hold nothing, these buds that bloom in a snow that gives and melts, revealing their red heads, to be touched in this ready color i find as unconvincing as always the perfect weather as the storm that fails, and the brown, brown mountain and when will we ever go back to the beginning, that one indisputable thought when i was but an idea, and believing in, i felt a king on the lonesome earth and to be free was to know no others but now like the winter trees i give and bend always surrendering some new feeling saying, in the cool first movement of spring: 'yes, for you, anything right to me, i will do', shivering this taste of living off the branches, the green that will nearly erupt to carry us into that dense fold of summer, whose shadows i'll implore until they carry me back through time on their narrow craft, under the river we shall sail. i'll see you at the station there, when we used to go to school, my dear river. when we all vanish, i'll see you so soon. take me from myself and i am, in devotion, darker, nigh limitless.
Wane 00:56
Relent 02:52
Freed 02:56
None 09:33
none you still in the flight of philadelphia- that flat wind? it blows here too- along the tracks we mark where they stop- the freight we hope will carry one of us westward. i know your hours as i know none of my own years, my going round the world and united nations, the child of maine winter who has fled my lives of strangers, them, stranger, me the long great road to berlin, tbilisi, johannesburg, kathmandu, the affairs and empty houses. i am still out looking for some dedication but after the first snow here is the house that no one built but in this cold the boy with the dog will go, as the radiators begin their hissing. an ache at my words? what great ache- now i will have no poetry, not when that voice you are out of money and what did i lose you can have it again too, like that white space i lay like open my heart. how many cups can i keep in the window in and out of the memory spell you can find their shadows in the middle of the afternoon that passes by first the sun on the closet door, then on the opposing wall until it reaches the outdoors this view i will take a picture of every day give it enough evenings to smell like someone’s home not i who wanders, not i who yearns not i who keeps your locket love where first you buried it, not i who you hearkened to in contemplation. no, come, be warm where i am cold. i will meet you at the station.


(mourning dove)

(ft. lady queen paradise & fotgjengeren & womajich dialyseiz of grimalkin collective & leighton & qrs-281 & no drew/nobody said & aartvark from near northeast (etxe) & elliot cole on a few works/tracks, stephen, vita, noa)
moving image/sound used for Chloe Piene talk/work

some on post narrative project sites.google.com/view/e-a-b-unknown/home/drain
some tracks featured in outtakes & death of a poet //other collections linked on sites


released April 16, 2021


contains part of "letters found in the attic" collection:

more youtube links in bonus material inside download.


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