track: sofa
by: mourning dove
the porch in a deep late spring fog
when the leaves are now really out and full
of green temperature
and clouds that could be gathered like the word we once used to call them clouds before they were clouds
maybe you are there standing as you once did or maybe you never put on that record
anyway, it was all rewritten.

we used to sit on the wall far enough away to talk without you hearing but close enough to watch you play the harmonica
until i said aloud that how you moved was a sleep of a different kind and i drew another you who was not awake as the you you but in a scribbled sleep across the sofa where later you lay on the day you were i thought going away but you were not going away but have become something that cannot be felt
like a look and never any word

could we go then back to the station as it became a shrine for the thoughts of that year
passing as the snow was falling outside
after we left the place where we said goodbye on the sofas that have been moved away from the fire
without those sadnesses how could we have marked time
now we no longer mark time but still it moves through a body leaving ghosts?

what did you do with my picture on a plastic card where my face is worn away and the drawing i gave you of the girl who is not me crying or even your own portrait as i have kept the extra prayers you wanted to get rid of to something you may have no faith in? just to know if it was real that we knew each other for a little while

i am afraid you walk through my dreams nightly and in those dreams i walk through your house here are the remains of all who lived in a house

i could never really believe you exist
as that building still stands
with the trail to the tracks behind

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 wile 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-
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.


from while we were away, released July 2, 2019


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Muteant Sounds (net label) Florida

MuteAnt Sounds (netlabel) is entering our 8TH year of distributing, sharing, posting and releasing the world’s finest experimental, noise, free jazz, no-fi ambient space jazz free form sound ever recorded.

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