Far stairs vid release party 12 of 67

MURMUR.
I got hunger like I got hunger, and I
wish these days were—oh, I wish these days were over. I am
making less and less sense to myself: the
light on the horizon, this power over people.
What is in your heart? Take me down hard.
What is in your mind? I have to know why.
What is in your heart? Take me out back and show me
what's in your design. I got worry. I got
hunger. I got hunger like I got hunger, and I
wish these days were over. Oh, I wish these days were over.
Trilobites are gliding down the highway.
The dinosaurs still run the earth. We're trapped in slow time.
What is in your heart? Take me down hard.
What is in your mind? I have to know why.
What is in your heart? Take me out back and show me
what's in your design. I got worry.
I got worry. I got worry. I got worry. I got worry. I got—
You win again. You win again. You win again.
You win again. You win again. You win again.

 

FIGURE ONE.
It didn’t leave. I wish it would.
The coat is empty, but I’m gonna take care of it.
I feel it watching from the back of the room. It says,
Figure it out. Figure it out. and it says,
Love is money, but money’s not love.
It makes my skin crawl, but I’m gonna take care of it.
I’m gonna write this down.
I’m gonna write this down.
Everything is beautiful and slow and glowing.
It’s all coming back to me now:
You said you love me and I’m worth something.
I’m gonna write this down.
In the alcove in a sort of a coma,
I miss you so bad, but I’m gonna take care of it.
The oily wheels of every fortune say,
Figure it out. Figure it out. and it says,
You are about to become a genius.
It makes me angry, but I’m gonna take care of it.
I’m gonna write this down.
I’m gonna write this down.
Never been happier than in that hour
where you were here and you really cared.
It makes me think that all the years were—
The spirit in the air keeps shouting about how
my old ways are nothing and I spent my life trying to
win at everything, shouting about how
money’s not love, money’s not love, money’s not love:
LOVE IS MONEY, BUT MONEY’S NOT LOVE.
LOVE IS MONEY, BUT MONEY’S NOT LOVE.
LOVE IS MONEY, BUT MONEY’S NOT LOVE.

I’m gonna write this down.
I’m gonna write this down.
I’m gonna write this down.
I’m gonna write this down.

 

EVERYONE I’LL NEVER SEE AGAIN.
Behind me in a mirror,
I see your name written backwards.
Everyone who’s gone is your family now.
Everyone I’ll never see again.
They’re all there in a picture
in a gallery in Connemara.
The name of a place I’ve never been,
a corner in a room I’ll never see.
So long, so long.
So long, so long.
In a book about the War in Lisbon,
I see your face in a photo, smiling.
I swear I saw you yesterday
in a campaign poster on the subway.
But I know you live on Cambridge,
just a mile or two from Boston Harbor.
Everybody there is your family now.
Everybody here isn’t real to them.
Two cities can’t exist in real-time.
Two people can’t talk between them.
A sentence on the phone takes a hundred years.
A letter in the mail takes a thousand lifetimes.
I’ll never love another
who doesn’t look like you in some way.
I’ll say the same thing to everyone I see.
If I repeat it to enough of them, you’ll hear it someday:
“So long, so long.
So long, so long.”

 

THE SHINING HOURS.
Birds came in the summer rain:
I took it hard. Took it too hard.
I took it way too hard.
Cities melting in the sea again:
I took it way too hard.
I took it way too hard.
Strange lights in the streets at night:
I took it hard. Took it too hard.
I took it way too hard.
The soldiers told me it would be all right:
I took it way too hard.
I took it way too hard.
You know it found the cracks.
It grows into the plants and wraps
the cold and glowing heights.
It blows in through your hands at night.
It takes one to make the sun:
I took it hard. Took it too hard.
I took it way too hard.
It takes two to make the moon:
I took it way too hard.
I took it way too hard.
You know it found the cracks.
It blows in through the plants and wraps
the cold and glowing heights.
It grows into your hands at night.

 

GOING TO PHOENIX.
Dawn half-light on the 305. Running on
no sleep last night. Long drive. Gotta make
Phoenix by noon to stay alive, and it’s lookin’ like
another hundred miles by nightfall. Slow dive
into light. But it’s all right. It’s all right. It’s all right.
It’s all right. It’s all right. It’s all right.
I just need this tape player and a Patsy Cline song:
“—favorite pastime—”
“Seven lonely days make one long—”
Drawn half-right on the road sign, looks like
cars with legs scurrying spiderlike into the
low sun burning the horizon line. It’s like a curtain
keeping all the bad things outta sight. Hey, it’s all
right. It’s all right. It’s all right. It’s all right.
It’s all right. It’s all right. I just need a full tank and
“Life During Wartime.”
Keep the heater on high ’cause
“Everybody wants to rule the—”
I took the mirrors off the walls and boiled a pot of water for
three days gone astray, but nothing seemed to take.
I could feel it coming underneath the dead hum of the broken
radio. I buried it in back and hit the road, and now I’m
on my way to see you, and I figured you would let me stay.
You’ve always been so good to me.
I’ll be in Baltimore by Tuesday.
Missing you is keeping me awake.
Gone right at the coastline, givin’ up
sunshine, palm trees, beach life. Headed for
cold days, rainwashed grey skies. Keepin’ your
drumline heartbeat in my mind slows time.
This is the part where the crazy guy talked about
“—smiling as you ease the gun from my—” said the world
“throws its light” into your eyes. Must be why
I can’t see a thing.
I can’t see.
Why can’t I—

 

LOVE WILL FIND YOU.
Love will find you in the freezing rain.
Love will find you in a basement somewhere.
Love will find you in the winter when the light is gone.
Love will find you on an island under blazing stars.
Love will find you in the noonday sun.
Love will find you in the shadow of a rotting tenement.
Love will find you in the bombed-out ruins of a
cold parking lot, smoking Decades in the back seat.
In a night of long knives and slow smiles,
love will find you in the dusty vault of slow time.
Love will find you in the pages of history,
trying to look like someone else who's trying to get off scot-free.
Love will find you when you’re looking away.
Love will find you when you tell yourself you’re not loved.
Love will find you when you’re not ready.
Love will find you when you’re not ready.
Love will find you when you’re not ready.
Love will find you when you’re not ready.
Love will find you when you’re not ready.
Love will find you when you’re not ready.