Xdrop Next Show: All We Have Left, Triskelion Arts Theatre, 118 N. 11th St. 3rd Floor, Brooklyn, New York, July 25 2008

A timing slip
A gap of slight degree
Skin pulls when I reach
Tears off the rubber, coiling
Too wide to grasp
Too pure to have
Is not so kind to the reaching hand

Thought I’d call
Thought you’d call
The dead shall grow
For we walk on them
We tip
We tow so silently
Like a rhythm rehearsed
To be played incessantly
No one is alone

Space fills my landscape
To watch you leave me
With the stars
As you get smaller
In the distance
In the dark
Tunneled in the spin
They’re pulling out the hair of girls
Who would never win
This is the trouble I’m in

Balancing desire with
One hand over her heart
That I could tell her things
And pledge to never part
Would you push if they were coming?
To the mirror of this divide
We are walking the sands
In just a moment
Of a long waiting line
No glue gun could be as fine
Or travel the way you fell
When you felt field lengths behind

It was a puddle
It was a puddle
Rocks piled high the further I went
Longer I pass the level descends
Slipping through the hole until it ends
In your eyes I see something
But it’s clouded with the black
Of the dark bouncing ball
That has me forgetting
And my all
Be still the haunting
Be still my heart

The dark star
Glows unknown to them
Beyond the naked eye
You are too far
Gone against the galaxy
The spiral we call out to thee
Can you see me?

Placing ever perfect
On platform high
She is a concept
You understand
She had to die
Fearless
Fleeting
With her last breath
She is releasing
Circling levels
Gravity embraced
Facing him
There is no ground
She took a moment
And looked over the crowd

Used
Abused and forgotten
Just like every invention
We are all a part of
This great descension
When did it seem a good idea to
Rearrange the pieces of life
To excuse the resistance
And give up the fight

The closer they came
They cornered me to a smaller version
Of a heavier scene
And she can’t hear a thing
Where all the noise goes
The roulette is just deafening
She could be hanging there graciously
Declined
Reaching for a feather floating down
Past her artistry
Onto a bird
Who hasn’t quite yet died