Sketches

Expanded 3/14/10

Music has always had great power in my life. Through music that is written by others I feel connected to the world and in that which I write, I feel whole.

Its a rare experience to hear music as its written. A rough sketch of what may be tossed aside forever or become something more. I have gotten into recording as soon as I put my pen down - sometimes I don't have the chord progressions finalized and I certainly don't know the words because sometimes they haven't been written. The melody (or lack thereof) is free flowing and still being defined. But most of all - I am still so connected to the song. After the rough sketch the distance becomes greater and greater and the process shifts from "get it all out" to "get it all right". I find these recordings intriguing and wanted to begin to share them. Feedback is welcome.

the story of what was

the truth of what has come before
slumbers between the bed of "i knew then"
and sheets of "in retrospect" woven
so quietly in the absence of light
i pretend its not there

truth's edges are soothed by time's grace
delicately composed layer by
harshly comprised layer deceives
for what is wrapped in the package labeled "survival"
is unfolded to reveal all the broken pieces
under rug swept

Quarterback

This is me as I have never been
Before - a paradox
After - of little concern

Arrival: I chose this for failing to choose

Life through erosion
Time flows inattentively
One move
Head turn - stand still
Eyes closed

Destination: of little importance

Acceptance: This is not destiny but
a neglected version of fate

I believe I am the quarterback
pity the lack of interference
Yet find the jersey hanging - dusty
startled to find not the uniform
but my own reflection

This is physical but exists outside of
its form - flourishes without containment
Fertilized by its root

Petrified by its company - mortified by
my inability to learn - wanting to think
this through - knowing it cannot be conceived

So I release - tiny thread by fragile thread
a way of life
that instead of that became this

Concealment

In a room without windows
dissected by a curtain - concealing
a woman with a story
not unlike my own
yet I crave separation

The clock pushes through time
air is thick and progress
is in short supply
freely given information has suffered extinction
while I stared at a black television screen
waiting for answers that were not mine to have