Pacific and Concord (Spoken Word)

by VanGogh Defense Systems Armed, Warhol Is Imminent

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about

A Spoken word album.

An agreement to make, to preserve peace. This is a few short (and one long) poem about the varying definitions of peace, the struggle in achieving it and so on.

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released September 17, 2016

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VanGogh Defense Systems Armed, Warhol Is Imminent Michigan

An outlet of emotion poorly played and written only slightly better.

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Track Name: Relative Story
Existing only in focused light
Maybe a new pair of glasses would help
But it seems the world has evolved
Into an unsettled brackish blur

There seems to be traces of Autumn
In the longest days of canine teeth,
Gums picked until bleeding
Convinced
Struck with belief that there remains
The peel of an apple half eaten
Wisdom pulled
Less than enthusiastically-
There’s only teeth
And pink
And red
And nothing more,
From the corner of the mirror though,
Nostalgically distant
Classically analog
Maybe you were there
Smiling or raising your hands to tell a story
The evidence of lineage is lost
When hope leads to concentration
And the dismissal of sharing a moment
Instead of experiencing it,
Pond water
A hair cut resembling algae blooming
To look more similar
There’s a book of photographs
Covered in dust,
A piece of you in me,
A piece of me in you,
Sometimes you are seen
But most days there’s a feeling of absence
Of not knowing
Track Name: Wax Manifest
A dance of dim lit flint glitter
Shower of handheld constellations
What a beautiful sight to see you so close once
Again
As bright
As fleeting
Retained without the ability to reflect
Upon
As true spoken
As seen briefly
A flicker amongst nowhere
Of your knowing
Seen briefly against the chrome
Cover of Zippo lighter,

Stuck in expectation
Mouth moving in front of trusted
Yet nothing genuine escapes,
Intoxicated again
This time the basement on 2nd street
The faces are soft
Smiling and not imposing
A textbook example of memory slips
Dangered by sobriety
A puddle of circling similes bleeds
From a scraped knee

Time taken
Counted paces to hand prints embedded
In absence of witness
These thoughts make sense,
Setting them free with solemn flame
Miles away in a sanctuary
Stream adjacent,
A place where the birds and trees harmonize hymns
Solstice to solstice
Track Name: Aubade
Outlines carved out
As driftwood situated above the river bank
Mock drafts of backpacks and legs attached
Drawn physically
As those giant tea cans
With the fragile bodies
Toppled over
Spilling out with such recherche
The contents seamed
To form a blanket protecting
Dirt from skin
Embers smolder adjacent
Molding floral aphorisms
Into an entrance adorned with
Barely breathless operas
Bordered by cautious changes
Of colour
From maturity stumbling downward
Circling above
Almost suspended
Moving in repetition stranded
Between switchgrass
And cedar limb,
Panticum fields flattened
With expressionist intent
Cursive writing leaving more
Than just footprints and brush strokes behind,
Speaking to nature unknown
As if there’ll be answer back
Smoke signals float
To the places we want to be
Track Name: Beauty In The Branches
Thirty-six postcards sealed with the wax from our fingertips, looking on to a destination sending each letter addressed to one another northward. A haphazard endeavor planned to an ellipses raining down upon the blankets we slept with the night before departing. An opaque post-midnight moon greeted dreary eyes struggling to act as fast as the excitement flooding through ocean wide irises. Rest was postponed to the next new moon, until the prospect of another such event would ease the primal anxiety of drought, allowing sleep to come swift and easily. Panel floors paced to dirt path finding distraction amongst the purple finches sipping sunflower shells- ferreting warm hollows when Lake Michigan is signaling its time to furrow home. Spit pine pitch between the spaces, stretch skin spin it to cloth, the sails are meek, our will is tender, our feathers are in line. Mild temperature fluctuation keeps an undulating cadence a heartbeat afar. Driving through skin cells since deliquesced to cedar bearing soil, t-shirts un-spun strands of fabric base-faded- left dangling from restroom bathrooms fourth stall down, taped to a cigarette butt left just passed exit one eighty-four, dropped at the Starbucks in Mackinaw City- are catenated- crossing off the tattoos burrowed beneath an unending breath. Wood panels are paced to dirt path, concrete is cantered to river rock corridors tracing shore's coast.
Pitch lingers with the humid hum of a fire beating away at pine logs, songs offered for introduction exchanging diaries to aid in re-naturalization. Wandered forlorn to a scrapbook written with adolescence. Now adults, now denatured, mostly ripe but some parts fermenting, some parts still green. There's a feeling of reverie, stubborn and serene. Here we are, teeth glistening standing out against the backdrop of a setting sun reclaimed, of cedar trees kissing condensation's edge, our reflection visible in the water whisking away a shade of sand. Layers of colour exploded over, earthy textures splashed in pointillism revealing a mountain scaled to surmountable size. Oh, foliage scavenging for chlorophyll kaleidoscopes, eyes scatter light gazing out to a view never to be mapped. Shelter unraveled before us, a red canvas hidden in the brush, set up a mess-what became a community effort. These places have names, these people are known but there's beauty in imagining everything is wild and incapable of ownership-it's more freeing to be a secret. Songs are sung, legs in full flight intertwined with choruses of a soul released through a stuttered alphabet. Light evaporates under a veil of ink splatters, taking shelter in glass jars flickering intermittently, figures no more shadows slip comfortably betwixt aluminum chairs, becoming visible, staggered with the fervent flutter of an intimate strobe light syndicate. Tent rustles roar softly, settling serenely amongst steadfast prolonged pauses between quivers. Nature knows no repetition just successful pattern, at rest, with our beaks closed, we've returned home.
Track Name: Cricket Song
Humid evening
Disease Circulating,
Off away in presence of a fawn
Safely stumbling towards an old apple tree
Position staggered and turned twisted
Revealing only a two dimensional outline,
Swirled fingers past eye sight
Just far enough to remain unnoticed
Animating tree branches
Took flowers assumed,
Carves puppets from flesh and chlorophyll,
Braided hair attached at knuckle,
Fell to compost
A cardinal feeding it's mate,
A mother building her nest,
Shaving legs to feel closer
An electric razor sat on glass
Quiet to be passed off
As a rabbit running to cedar underbrush,
Took sips breathing
Fresh squeezed pure and elegant
The air endemic,
A virus spreading
Bug bitten
Shedding skin
And hair
And all the things that hold people together,
Shave
Cut loose,
Fear tonight
No more
Timid freshly born,
The apples are ripe and within reach
Track Name: Drowning In Concord
Kaleidoscope sunrise shining collateral
In confidence of vulnerable precedence

Swallowing thorn bushes
To spit out another womb
Nimble grass matted down to make room
For another bout of fermentation-
Fighting newborn flesh with steel and glass

Almost as said simply
If a loss is required
It’s better to offer a facet never rightly experienced

Living postmortem is nearly justified
Accepted as reality for having a heartbeat,
The consequence of loving every meteor shower
Escaping the beautiful temptation
Of lighter and reclamation of summer evening,
Fingers furrow passion for any sign of amelioration
Passage is inescapable but progress lies
Buried in an elusive state of suspension,
Choking down heavy moisture
A recondite sigh grows accustomed
To liquidating human requirements
With each movement made,
The body becomes a staggered succession of pallid footprints
Retreating to an unaltered imperative of nothingness

Feeling natural was too much to cherish
Track Name: French Toast
Empty the closet
More space is needed to dig and bury,
Lay flush
Flowered textures sinking their roots
Into vertebrae
Crawling for a place to rest,

Got up inconsistently
Shaking in forlorn celebration
Displays of repose displaced
With each pebble kicked
All along the gravel road leading
To peace and uneasiness,

Swallowed sallow stained
Oscillating reflections
Resting in clarity,

A broken accordion whispers
Exhaling stuttered sighs
The bellows are riven
Ragged and struggling
Leaking
From the bathroom's rib cage,

Heaving another disconcerted shuffle
Stifle regurgitation long enough
For it to make sense,
A necessity to feel the heart beat
Speaking sick and ticking
Ethereal syllables resembling Morse Code,

Being but just barely
Cradled by opposing perception

Morning rise in grace
Of being sheltered and shed
Cleanse with the aroma
Of moisture slithering off feathers of aster,
Maple diary aged sweetly
Basking under clouds of goodness
Sprinkling recalescence
At ease and armistice
Another piece discarded
Fingers crossed it’s possible
To become human
By becoming nothing at all
Track Name: Pacific and Concord
For plentiful to you
Blushing red
Cheeks swelling
Hiding skin under letters typed individually,
Fearing recovery
Masquerading aimless as bluestone avenues
Shoes tied to tree branches
Diluted water bottles buried beneath lily beds,
Traded chest cavities
Arranged red bouquets
Gave funerals to traffic accidents
Bumps in the road
Stopping midnight fog bright
Postmortem accolades awarded
Mostly still
Tranquil transience
In grief momentary is forever
Swallowed apple cores on a porch leaning towards heels rubbed raw
House lit dimly
Glowing during day now retreating
To a murmur
Singing distant hymns of visceral bloom
Ingested fertility over fence posts
Drinking regurgitated flesh
Until lamp light grew faint and significant,
Sprout from us
Orchards vast and bearing