2.21.2015

what we loved was not enough




Worcester, Massachusetts 2006/2007

the world itself consumed
man that's the only truth
and what we loved was not enough
even though we wanted to

I learned it sick in bed
mining golden vapors
regrets like charms laid end to end
and other sweet divinities

and this I learned and thus I gleaned
and what we loved was not enough
but kiss it quick and rise again
kiss it quick and rise again

(the day has come when we no longer feel)

there'll be war in our cities
and riots at the mall
blood on our doorsteps
and panics at the ball

all our cities gonna burn
all our bridges gonna snap
all our pennies gonna rot
lightning roll across our tracks

all our children gonna die
all our children gonna die

then the west will rise again
and then the west will rise again

so goodnight vain children
tonight is yours, the lights are yours
if you'd just ask for more
than poverty and war

what we loved was not enough

-thee silver mt. zion memorial orchestra

11.03.2014

10.23.2014

The Mountain

He was just a kid, and the forest was seemingly endless. 
His knowledge of these two facts produced a powerful exhilaration 
that made his nerves buzz.

He clung to the metal rung and hung his body over the edge, 
tilting toward the blaze of color far below. Frenchman Bay was 
blue and jagged today, corrugated by the wind. He watched the chop 
roll the boats around in the harbor.

They say it's a small mountain, but the wall he climbed that day was anything but. 
Champlain was a monolith, and it was his. 
When he stared into the sea of birches below the ledge
and let his vision gently slip out of focus, he saw his father sitting there,
swinging his legs, the double knees of his work pants greasy and nearly worn through. 

“You okay?” he'd asked that first time they climbed it together. 
Two-thirds of the way up the wall they'd found a rock to sit on, 
and his father had idly cleaned his fingernails with his pocketknife 
as he gazed over the bay. He always let his beard grow this time of year.

He knew the look of the close eye his father had on him; not quite worry, 
but a calm regard, and he knew the question on his face 
had to do with the dizzying drop below them. He suspected, though, 
that they were taking a break for his father's benefit as much as his own. 

The accident was a week later. Your father's gone, lost forever

When he looked down now he wondered how anyone could think of falling. 
The climb was all he wanted. To own the sky was a wish granted, a presence felt. 
He leaned out 
just a kid 
and watched the blazing trees mimic the rollers in the bay.